Mockingjay: Destiny
by Pen1
Summary: Sequel to Mockingjay: Legacy. Greg Heffley was so abandoned and misunderstood by his family and society that when he got sent to Spag Union to rot, he escapes and creates the terrifying Sentries, elite killer robots out of revenge. Now it is up to Katniss Everdeen, her daughter Jay and Jesse, 1st Victor of District 12 to stop him before he destroys the universe as we know it.
1. Prologue: A Tale of Misery

A **uthor's note: This tale is a dark one, but thankfully not dark enough for an M rating. But what I really want you to examine is Greg's troubled life.**

 **I'm sure you can agree that Greg Heffley's life isn't the best life to live in, and probably any of us would have done better than him. But the problem is that he gets run into all kinds of mishaps, accidents, injustice and misfortunes-mostly for no fault of his. Therefore I guess its suitable that he deserves to have a little vengeance.**

 **Welcome to the dark gloom of a desolate apocalyptic future of Greg's world**

Prologue

If you are reading this, then I have probably been captured by the Sentries for the purpose of lab experiments and brainwashing, or directly exterminated with their laser rays.

I am Chirag Gupta, and I am one of the many refugees who scavenge and struggle for the remnants of the sustenance of the land. We used to be spoiled for taste and luxury, living at ease and convenience. But then it brought about our selfishness and indifference to many things, so much that we realized too late that our world was going to be torn apart. And it did, and we were reduced to ragged beggars, fugitives, scoundrels and bedlams.

In this wasteland, rendered barren by the destruction brought upon by nuclear bombs and the wrath of the Sentries, I have to face so many dangers and hazards, ranging from hunger, to thirst, to hopelessness, to the jaws of mutant animals that somehow are more starving than us, the poor brutes. Every day, whenever I open my eyes and rise from my stone bed, the parched cracked earth, I realise that I have awoken to a nightmare that will never go away. This is a living nightmare that will haunt me to my last breath.

When I am not looking for the few isolated ponds of water or the menial sprouts of wild peas that could be my only meal for the day, I am often pondering on my miserable existence on this hellish landscape. Not only I had to watch out for the snarl of a radiation-infused predator, but many times I had to duck or run under a rock whenever I heard a strange metallic groan or a sharp whistle, for that could be a Sentry dropship or a Drone, unmanned stealth fighters that are infamous for their versatility and element of surprise.

But I've heard from fellow wanderers that the Chancellor tweaked the Sentries' algorithm purposely to led us suffer and whither in this harsh wastelands. For all I know, he could order his Sentries to find us and take us out all at once. For he is the ultimate dictator, ruthless and cold in all that he does. But the Chancellor's wickedness and reign of terror is because of our failure to recognize right and wrong, and our failure to help those who felt abandoned and could not share their feelings. Society's failure to reach out a hand to the struggling, regardless of class or rank or race, brought this punishment on us all.

When I was a boy, I had this classmate called Greg Heffley. An average kid like myself, he loved video games and played jokes just like any others of his age. In fact once he pretended that I was invisible and had somehow been whisked off to goodness knows where! At that time I hated it and reported it to my father, but now I look back and see that it was so harmless. Generally he is a good-natured guy who does what he can for the benefit of others. But like every person, he does have misgivings and weaknesses. Only that his family was a fickle.

Out of envy for the performance of 'star' kids especially of his boss (Rowley told me a lot just before the Rising occured, some time before the Ten Hour War), Greg's dad sent him to Spag Union to curl up and wilt into uniformity and strict regulatory. It was the very thing that broke Greg's soul and he ran away to become a fugitive.

Forced to flee the country not only by the authorities but also by the hostile and unfriendly streets and life on the run, he traveled all around the world, where he eventually discovered his love for science and technology. Discovering secret works of disgraced scientists who were scorned and even put behind bars because of their controversial works of discovery, he eventually created the first prototype Sentry in seven years, a remarkable achievement.

The first Sentry was a powerful robotic entity which no weapon of man could destroy, and its lasers and stanium swords would reduce an army of a million man to a morgue full of corpses. But the Sentry could provide eternal security to the world, and wars need not be fact, Greg's ability to procure breakthroughs in technology would make him famous and bring him great honour, enriching further generations for ages to ocme.

Unfortunately, just before Greg was given a chance to provide his beneficial services to the world, jealous leading scientists with the assistance of police officers broke into his basement to snatch all his equipment and creations under the guise of the charge that Greg was a fugitive wanted by the authorities and that Greg was a thief whole stole equipment that he couldn't afford to buy. Those greedy men just wanted to claim fame and glory using Greg's own creations.

As Greg was being handcuffed by his accusers, the first Sentry burst out and slew all of his accusers brutally. Immediately Greg decided that mankind couldn't be trusted and had to be cleansed in a bloodbath and be reformatted by retribution. He created a series of algorithms that enabled the Sentries to find and hunt down all who could pose a threat to his interests. Thus the Deployment began, with millions of people snatched up by Sentries to be brainwashed or killed cruelly. Greg seized control of a endless supply of brainwashed scientists, lab facilities and materials to continue his campaign of revenge. And once he had consolidated his base of power, millions of Sentries were launched worldwide to cleanse the world of his perceived pestilences. All the militaries of the world used every weapon they had, from experimental laser weapons to nuclear bombs, but Greg used one terrible weapon to subdue the world and bring it to its knees.

In the climatic Ten Hours War, all the naval fleets and armadas of the Anglo-Asian allies combined together to stop the advance of the Sentries, those unstoppable metal humanoids. But the moment their missiles hit the first Sentries, the battle was already lost. Greg had implanted in his fighters the ability to adapt to any attack, be it scorching heat or radiation. Therefore the Sentries could easily develop countermeasures to fight any weapon they came against, and in exactly ten hours, much of the world fell into Greg's grasp.

In his quest for revenge he killed his own father and brother in cold blood, but somehow his mother and Holly Hills, a girl who rejected his romantic advances escaped to join the Resistance. Of his younger brother Manny I don't know what became of him. But the Resistance is crumbling. I have seen with my own eyes how the Sentries strike their hideouts, digging into their underground bunkers to incinerate them right in their beds. The Sentries show no mercy, for they are deployed at the will of their creator, Greg Heffley.

I write this because I wish that there is hope, hope for a better future, hope to make things right, hope to right wrongs and to reverse the damage done. But we have none. And it is all our fault. Our greed, lust and selfishness have resulted in much desolation. We who live in the wastelands are dwindling by the numbers, and it is a matter of time before the Resistance is wiped out. And then Greg will have the world as his footstool. And so, I can only warn the reader-do not ever let down your fellow man, no matter how despicable he may be. The Chancellor Greg may be brutal and cold, but it was we who forced him to become a monster. Our rejection and jeers forced him to choose the worst choices.

I can only wish for a better future that may not come, and I shall only find respite when I draw my dying breath. Perhaps a swift death at the hands of the Sentries should suffice.

Pray for my soul, and do not be disheartened.


	2. Chapter 1: Deploy the Sentries!

Chapter 1

Where there is fear, there is unhappiness and great despair. Across the land that was once the land of the free, the United States of America, what remains is a scorching, hostile and cursed landscape of parched earth screaming for water, devoid of any kind of vegetation. There are a few skeletal remains of the once glorious buildings of the past era of riches and prosperity. But yet these structures of corrosion and rust are too damaged to even be perceived as buildings.

Cockroaches and a few lizards slip about where there had been zoos, ponds and parks teeming with wildlife of all sorts, insects fluttering about with beautiful wings and feathery birds employing their songs of jubilee while they fluttered and flapped about without a care in the world. But all that is left of them are a few dried skeletons half-buried by sand, looking as if they had been untouched since the era of the dinosaurs.

In fact, this landscape of emptiness and death spreads across the American continent, named by the locals 'the Desolation of Bohr'. At the climax of the Deployment, the Chancellor of the Federation ordered his unstoppable and invincible Sentries to collect the entirety of America's nuclear arsenal and dump them across the continent, beginning from his hometown where he had ran away as an outcast, creating a long valley contaminated with radiation, inhospitable for any attempts to rebuild society there as a warning to all who might challenge his authority. The nuclear explosions which tore across the US were so great that every general readying for the 10 Hour War trembled before heading out to be defeated.

A significant portion of the US, Canada and much of South America had been preserved, but even the green areas and cities are kept under the watchful sensors of the Sentries. So is all of the Federation's territory, strict surveillance being observed as the main policy of the Chancellor. The wretched people who are forced to eke out a living in the barren wilderness can only look on as dropships containing couples of Sentries patrol the dark skies, searching suspiciously for any opponent to the Chancellor's power. Once in a while, a swift stealth Drone swoops down and examines every cavern and ruin meticulously, hovering over them as if a rebel or two were taking refuge there.

But there are countless cities all over the Federation, gleaming metropolises with the highest specs of technology and comfort for their citizens and dwellers. Bright flashy advertisement screens, holographic movie panels previewing the latest hits and swift trains silently and smoothly flying over thin air without a flaw all over the cities, bringing passengers dressed in every kind fashion and colour that man can ever conjure into smart clean stations with service robots to provide for their every need and care. Many of the passengers that pour out of a train that halts at one of the stations have some sort of screen or interactive media device before their eyes. But fortunately, they are sitting on short hovering boards which take them to their desired destinations without any mishap.

But above the gleaming skyscrapers and arches, a powerful structure of authority looms. A towering cylindrical skyscraper, with its flat top curved upwards like a tear drop. This is the Solaque, one of the Chancellor's countless penthouses that are fully equipped to be his retreat, military base of operations, bunker, laboratory and judgement court.

Inside the deepest of the inner chambers, two guards with rough faces that know no mercy, dressed in black gear are dragging a helpless prisoner, a potato sack draped over his head. They arrive with him at a steel door guarded by autoguns and an imposing Sentry that examines the prisoner stonily. One of the guards has his own fingerprint scanned by a faint laser ray and murmurs a secret password for the door to spring open and for them to be allowed entrance. Quickly, they force the hapless man to his feet and force him through a hallway additionally guarded by more guards armed to the teeth and two Sentries.

The man is thrown into a grand furnished lounge, carpeted comfortably and lighted with glee. The sack is pulled from his head roughly, and the visitor looks about and blinks. The lounge looks complicated and simple at the same time, what with a simple red couch and sofa set located at the center of the room, fantastic artwork of brilliant artists decorating the walls, an amazing display of swords and spears in a corner reputed to have been used by the great Greek fighter Archilles before Paris's arrow pierced his heel, multiple holographic screens everywhere for the purpose of communications or entertainment and the best view of the city from an open-air balcony at the far end of the wide lounge. The Chancellor's taste are clearly hard to compete with.

"Sir, we have brought the man." one of the guards say.

"Good." A door opens near a bookshelf oddly full of comics, previously unseen. The Chancellor himself steps out. He is also clad in a black armour like his guards, but he looks more intimidating, more powerful, and more indomitable. A plasma pistol sits comfortably in his side holster. His face is concealed behind a smooth gray helmet that reflects the frightened look of the poor man.

"I apologise for this rough treatment." the Chancellor says blandly. "Nevertheless I hope that you have been treated well by my guards, and that your journey here was comfortable."

"I assure you that the man was not harmed." the guard clarifies.

"Well, not harmed enough to kill him." the Chancellor says dangerously. "But don't worry. You are my guest in my quarters, not a prisoner heading for the labs for extensive experimentation. Please have a seat. Come on, don't crouch there like a dog. You don't even have bonds on."

The man scowls and says, "I'm not seating on your damned couch."

The guard slaps him hard. "It's all right." the Chancellor says. "He's just fresh from a barren wasteland with harsh weather infested with mutant animals. I can understand that he's somehow not used with this foreign rich settings." He motions about him.

"I didn't bring you her to be beaten to a pulp. If I did, the Sentries could have done a better job of doing so. Tell me, Samuel Brackson, leader of the South Green gypsies, have you been trading weapons with the Northern Oregons?"

"None of it," Samuel says. "Not a single bullet. But we traded only raw materials like bones, broken tiles and slime oil, and food whenever we had it in exchange for quite the same stuff. You know how hard business is in the wastelands where almost nothing grows."

"I symphathise," the Chancellor says. "I would like to make it up to you as best as I can. But let's make a deal. I have recently received information that the Northern Oregons are stirring up a terrorist movement. They are gathering strength and weapons as we speak."

"Thought you got your great and powerful Sentries to send them off to hell." the old gypsy says brusquely.

"Yes, but the moment they see them coming, they'll kill themselves."

Samuel laughed incredulously. "I assumed that killing is your pastime."

"No," the Chancellor remarked. "killing has to be done with a purpose. I don't want wasteful killing...when there can be other peaceful options. It doesn't have to be Sentries, Sentries, Sentries all the time, you know."

The Sentry at the door shifts uncomfortably.

"But do me a favour." the Chancellor continues. "And I'll return it. Severe all trade connections with the Northern Oregons and see to it that no caravan enters their territory for trade or whatever business you may have in mind. Do not trade with them. And I'll personally have my Sentries drop you a hundred tonnes of oil, food supplies and materials for trading. For the loss of your trade route to Oregon, I would like to inform you that we have completed a new trade road to the Southern Range, completely cleared of radiation and safe from mutts. You can be the first trader to have a monopoly on this new route- the early bird catches the worm, huh?"

"All this seems good." the old man wonders. "But what if they never actually have weapons?"

"Well, let them clarify that to me face-to face!" the Chancellor snaps. "But I have not received any such correspondence. And of course there are others like you who have reported a massing of dangerous armed troops in Oregon. Think of your trading, the safety of your gypsies, Samuel. They won't invite you to discuss matters amicably. These are lowlife wild and rabid beasts who have gambled their humanity for survival. They'll kill anyone, even those whom they trade with. Don't join such gangs, Samuel. You are worth more than that."

The leader of the South Green Gypsies inhales deeply and says in a low voice, "Very well, we have a deal."

"Smart choice!" the Chancellor says happily. "You should be proud of yourself. Now go back and do what we agreed. Guards, see to it that he is treated comfortably and ensure that he has a pleasant ride home with all the trimmings."

With Samuel's matters done, the Chancellor looks behind him to find a slightly plump fair-headed man coming in.

"Rowley," he says. "you heard what the gypsy needs? Scan his caravans and when they move out of Oregon territory, send him a goody package?"

"Already done, Greg." Rowley says heartily. "I heard it all."

"I sometimes wonder why some of these little pockets of wanderers, gypsies and refugees continue to stay in the merciless wilderness." the Chancellor muses. "I guess not everyone is comfortable with the excess of technology at their fingertips."

"Or perhaps they have been riddled with lies by the Resistance that they will be brainwashed and treated like puppets.  
Rowley suggests.

"You know, Rowley. You could be right." Chancellor Greg says. "Speaking of the Resistance, how is the operation at Atacama Desert going on?"

"Quite well." Rowley clarifies, opening several holographic screens displaying video footage of a hilly fort buzzing with vehicles and armed soldiers of the Resistance. It consists of several caverns guarded by anti-aircraft cannons and mortars. "Drones have identified the full capabilities of the Resistance hideout. The defenses are nothing picky, they newly caught up on laser weaponry, but their arsenal is like matchwood."

"I pity them." Greg says bitterly.

"Now, our Federation troops are moving in with artillery support and Drones." Rowley says. "Although this base is quite densely guarded, we have nothing to worry. Nothing serious, no unusual elements to send the Sentries in." Rowley says. "In a nutshell, this will merely be a milk run."

"Hmm." Greg voices his approval. "No need to waste Sentries, eh?"

"Well, where's the fun in playing a game with cheats?"

"Yeah, sending in the Sentries is too quick." Greg observes. "They'll cut through the whole base faster than I can get a pizza delivered here. But I do like to play slow games, which needs careful and particular strategies. My mind does fancy a workout once in a while."

"We are receiving new intel, Greg." Rowley taps a few buttons on the holographic screen upon spotting a little pop-up. He pauses to study the new information, before saying quickly, "Boss, you need to see this."

Chancellor Greg glanced at the fresh flow of news feed courtesy of the Drone scanners. "No way." he whispers.

"Err, this base may be hiding well-known Resistance leaders that are top on our list." Rowley says. "Susan Heffley, figurehead of the Resistance and Holly Hills, one of their top generals. Alex Aruda, top scientist in wormhole theory and atomic studies. He used to work for us until he suddenly went rogue."

"Don't tell me their grandiose positions." Greg says tiredly. "They are all bloody rats to me as far as the rodent is concerned."

"And look," Rowley opens up another screen. "There are odd presence of energy levels below the caverns of the main bunker. Pretty high for heat-producing technology of such a ragtag band. Probably they got materials from out there or from attacking traders. But the energy levels...they are somehow similar to our cloaking tech. Must be Alex Aruda-he lent his expertise..."

"That traitor!" Greg snorts. "He removed his chip before we could stop him...but why cloaking tech. Are they hiding something?"

"Yeap, boss." Rowley says. "And they haven't done a good job of doing so. They generated enough cloaking fields to disguise the thermal release, but with our newly upgraded scanners we can identify whether its nothingness or fake. Wonder what are they hiding, secret weapons?"

"Well, now with the bastards of a mum and Holly there, I intend to push things ahead." Greg snaps, standing up. "Deploy the Sentries. Flush them out. I must eliminate those thorns before the flesh rots any further. They are insignificant accursed rebels that need to be wiped off the face of the earth. Deploy the Sentries, leave no prisoners, kill everyone and destroy whatever equipment they find. I will not have the Resistance growing like a parasite, sucking at the federation."

"Affirmative." Rowley says, tapping more buttons on the command screen. "The nearest Sentry dropship will be alerted."


	3. Chapter 2: The Plan of Despair

Chapter 2

 **In the Resistance base...**

"Are you sure this will work, Alex?" a blonde girl looking very matured for her age says worriedly. She looks tired and shaken, having fought and ran for a decade already ever since the Deployment. She awkwardly checks her backpack to make sure she has the necessary supplies and gear in case she has to make a run once more from the clutches of the Sentries.

A bespectacled scientist with glasses nearly as big as eggs briefly glances at the clipboard in his hands. "I'm not sure, but it'll have to do." he says honestly. "You know that anytime, Greg can choose to kill us all at once. And we cannot catch up with him in terms of technological strength and strategically, we're outmatched. Even one Sentry can leave this place a bloody slaughterhouse."

"Is there no hope?" Holly tiredly asks.

"There is." Alex Aruda says. "Remember what we discussed months ago? With my knowledge of time travel experiments from my time in Greg's labs, I can create a portal that can take us back to the past. The fabric of time and space will be briefly torn apart to produce a tunnel in which we can send a ship back in time. Imagine that if Greg never ran away and got chased by the authorities only to create those terrible Sentries, we'll be happy and free. We can live more comfortably, have families without a worry and above all, this world will never be living in fear. Additionally, we'll won't remember any of these things. We can just enjoy...life."

"But you said it was unstable." Holly states.

"Well, if too many ship were sent through the portal, then yes, it could become unstable. A ship might get lost in the unstoppable flow of time. That is why we're sending one ship only, containing you and Susan Heffley. You are both key members of the Liberation, and also considered the closest to him personally, despite his inability to er...communicate."

"Inability!" Holly Hills spits out. "Greg is obstinate and pig-headed, always wanting to do things his way. Very forceful too. But he has had his good side. Now to think of it, he was a better person than all those suitors and admirers of mine. They merely wanted me as a toy, something to boost their reputations. But Greg was only looking for a companion, a close one. And when he failed to find one, that disfigured him mentally. It's all my fault." She buried her face in her hands.

"He chose it." An elderly lady looking still energetic comes in. She's carrying a plasma rifle. "People go on their own paths because they choose their own decisions. But somehow I never knew that his decision would go to far, until it is almost the end of us all. But what else can we say and blame now? The Greg we know now is a cruel calculative snake."

"So we shall go by the plan, Madam." Alex Aruda says. "Where are the generals from the Eastern Seaboard, and from the Kowloon territories?"

"In these troubled times, call me Susan." the lady says. "I have just received a distress call from Beijing. The Sentries have found the location of the main camps, and are wiping them off from the map. Although the Beijing chapter is located in our deepest bunker yet, a thousand feet underground layered with steel, the Sentries are drilling through as we speak."

"Don't tell me that all the commanders are being taken out." Holly Hills stammers.

"The British Remnant submarine carrying their leaders struck a deep sea mine and went down with all hands lost. An Afghani mine. Greg's working hand-in-hand with the New Caliphate to secure the seas." Susan Heffley says.

The whole room feels graver than a graveyard.

"I thought the New Caliphate was neutral." Holly Hills says.

"Yes, but apparently the British Remnant attacked too many of their cargo ships for supplies. Those desperate impoverished fools. So Greg offered to guard their ships with Sentries and naval support. And of course we all know that the Federation and the New Caliphate have a free trade and neutral policy with each other since the 10 Hour War."

"So all the main commanders are taken out?" Alex Aruda says in disbelief.

"Who knows?" There is a hint of uncertainty in Susan Heffley's voice. "Before the Federation set up the blockade around us, we received radio reports of Sentry drop ships heading for California and Alaska, where our American camps are. Greg has put his chess pieces in position to cut us from every source of support. We are surrounded." She pauses to reflect on the grim conditions, before continuing, "So we have to do this. We have to go back in time and stop this from ever happening. The Sentries must never be created."

"There's no other choice?" Alex frowns. "Time wrangling is worse than black magic, to dabble with it. I mean, I still can't understand it fully. But I can at least create a portal and based on theories and calculations, pinpoint the destination in the past."

"If we ever get there, I wonder if we should go by persuasion or kill him straight away." Holly smirks. "The Sentries are demons as far as the Chancellor is concerned."

"We have to talk to him." Susan sighs. "I can only hope my son can think straight and consider about the future as long as he isn't in the deep yet."

"Alex! Susan!" A dark-skinned captain hurries in. "The Federation troops have started to advance! Still no sign of Sentry drop ships, though." "That doesn't mean they won't be coming, Julian." Susan says. "Alex, power up the portal generators. I know they will take a few hours to reach full power to cut time flux, but we have to go back in time now. I think our chances of holding out, let alone defeat Greg's Federation are too slim."

"How about the ship? Supplies? A solid plan to try to stop Greg from running away or creating the Sentries, getting him home?" Holly Hills queries, a thousand things bombarding her mind heavier than a German Blitzkrieg. She cannot believe that they are actually doing something totally unrealistic, impossible, improbable and highly dangerous, just for the sake for stopping a desperate runaway kid from inadvertently causing the apocalypse that they lived in.

"We'll take a shuttle, Holly." Susan Heffley says as she dashes out of the room. "See to the supplies at the stores. Get maps, hooks, weapons, tinned food, anything that could be useful. I don't know where this trip is going to end up, but this is the only way we can somehow save our world. And maybe Greg." She ends tenderly, as if her heart were aching with what remained of motherly love.

* * *

 **Outside of the Resistance base...**

Soldiers clad in dusty military gear, blackened with the hazy air of the polluted wilderness dash about, shouting and slamming ammo clips into their rifles, shells into their battered artillery cannons or revving up grunting tanks and armoured vehicles. The rebel observers scan the skies and the expanse of the land beyond them with high-powered binoculars, taking note of the advancing Federation troops and hovertanks.

"No Sentry drop ships yet." a scout says to Captain Julian, who is overseeing the defense of the base.

"Why am I not surprised?" Julian scoffs. "The Chancellor always plays hard with his toys until they are broken, that spoilt brat. He may have all the powerful Sentries and military might in the world, but we'll show him! Thinks he can wipe us out easier than flies. But we'll prepare our best anti-aircraft crews to show down the drop ships before they ever deploy the Sentries. A missile or shell to the cockpit should suffice. They'll find that coming here won't be as easy as they think!"

"Captain, the longest any of our bases have lasted a full-scale assault was one-week. A thick dense bunker in China stocked to the brim with the remnants of People's Liberation Army firepower. But it fell in the end. How long can we last this? The Federation is superior by numbers and tech." the scout says worriedly.

"We'll find out!" Captain Julian exclaims. "But their birds will have flown by the time they step on our bodies! Greg will have no idea that we're doing something rash and stupid! If he did know, well then, we'd have Sentries right up our a$$es. Hah! I see five Drones up ahead! Five Drones! Skirmishers are out! Brace yourselves, soldiers! We have to hold them off as long as we can. Commanders Holly and Susan need time to jump back in time to save us all!

Out from the skies, five light slim Drones, slightly resembling stingrays, descend, silently but deadly. The anti-aircraft defenses roar to life, launching missiles at them or bursting with shells from AA cannons. A Drone is taken down by a shell to the right wing. The others break up and shoot back up to higher altitude, only to drop back down abruptly, raining plasma fire on the base defenses.

The Resistance consists of several mounds as big as a hill perspiring enough for a hiker. Each mound would be equipped with a forest of barb wire, machine guns, a small cache of missiles and steel reinforcing. Some of the mounds are highly impervious to heavy fire, strengthened thoroughly with steel alloys laced with stanium scavenged from the ruins of downed Sentry drop ships, fitted with a high-ranged cannon or missile systems, controlled via electronics by the soldiers protected inside. Others are mildly armoured, with troops using all kinds of weapons perching out from carved-in trenches. And then again these are the front line defense pits, more versatile than their heavier counterparts.

Soldiers duck to prevent the plasma rounds from blasting their heads off, but Julian is blown rolling to the side of the trench by an explosion only to see the scout's leg rolling after him.

"Open fire!" he shouts, pulling out his own laser rifle and firing at the approaching Federation hovertanks. The Resistance launch an impressive wave of laser fire and rockets that knocks out the first and second lines of the Federation tanks. But the hovertanks move on, undeterred and stubborn, like ranks of crabs foolishly approaching the wide expanse of the seas. They release a torrent of blue inferno from their cannons, slamming and punching into the lines of defenses. A Drone lowers altitude just as the soldiers' attention turn towards the ground targets and launch several plasma warheads, obliterating a defense mound of two. It swerves narrowly to dodge a rocket or two, before its plasma guns open fire, reducing screaming soldiers into limp corpses and mangled limbs.

As the Drone retreats to the safety of the skies, some hovertanks halt to unload Federation Guards, black clad soldiers of Chancellor Greg. They cover behind troopers holding sizable energy shields before advancing slowly towards the front defenses amidst heavy Reisistance fire. They lob grenades over their covers into the Resistance's faces or fire quick rattles from their guns whenever there is a lull in fire.

Julian spots an opportunity, and he grabs at it. A machine gun crew rains hell on a Fed column behind a shield man on the left flank. From the right flank, Julian dashes over with a band of soldiers and open fire on the unshielded right. The enemy soldiers tumble over like skittles, yelling with pain. A Federation hovertank fires a plasma shot at them to cover the troopers, but an ancient Resistance Abrams tank erupts with defiance, its shot smashing into the cockpit and exploding.

The Resistance soldiers cheer and fight on like bloody boxers vying for the main title.

"We need to hold them off for as long as we can!" Julian shouts as loud as he can, so that all his men are encouraged further to fight on to the bitter end. "Fight on! Think of the families we can have, think of the brighter future we may enjoy, when we succeed to stop Greg!"

As soldiers duck, dodge, dash, yelp and shoot back amidst Federation hellfire and Drone assaults, artillery crews and AA systems are in full swing, targeting every threat in sight. A perspiring sergeant yells before his squad's mortar launcher erupts, sending a shell into the nose of a hovertank. Unfortunately, the miserable shell bounces off the tank before it responds in kind, vomiting blue fire that fries the entire squad into charred skeletons in an instance. Two Drones dart downwards and release several mini bombs that open to scatter shiny powder like seeds all over the base.

"What is that?" Julian asks quietly, before yelling, "Take cover!" as the powder makes contact with the ground only to ignite and blow up.

There couldn't be a worse hell-on-earth than this. Three quarters of the defenses are set a lit in a second by the explosive powder, courtesy of Greg's dirty tricks. Soldiers run screaming out of their hovels, their uniforms ablaze, only to be gunned down by the Federation troops. With much of the frontline exposed to a Federation advance, they march in steadily, hovertanks stalking. Julian throws off his flaming jacket, with a slight burn on his right arm and orders, "Power up the shield generator!"

A cavern slightly exposed near the main bunker fires up with energy from an underground generator. A purplish energy sphere forms around the entire base, and a Drone crashes into it just as it solidifies. A significant amount of Fed troops are trapped within the impenetrable shield around the Resistance base. A barrage of Resistance artillery blows the trapped Federation units to ashes.

With the enemy advance contained for the time being, Julian wipes off some sweat off his brow as the remaining Resistance troops scramble to rearrange their positions, replace damaged weapons and clear the mounds of debris and corpses. He check his watch and notes that the engagement took half and hour. "What now?" he wonders aloud. Obviously he is still unsure whether today could be the day his ashes are scattered across this accursed wasteland.


	4. Chapter 3: Wrath of the Sentries

Chapter 3

"Hmm...tough resistance, I see." Chancellor Greg mutters distractedly, staring at the video feed on his command monitor. "50 troops gunned down by their disgustingly effective firepower, one Drone down and twenty hovertanks lost. Those useless fools never know when to give up."

"The Sentry drop ships are nearing the area." Rowley says anxiously. "They will arrive in 3 minutes."

"No, no. Don't send those drop ships from the Mexa region." Greg waves his hand is disapproval before rising to his feet quickly to look outside his balcony. The spectacular cityscape is surely enchanting, he thinks. Very relieving especially in the turmoils that ravage his mind even fiercer than those filthy rebels led by a nagger of a mum and a slut of a bi%^&, Holly Hills who had abandoned him to rot away in a boot camp., just to hook up with Bryce Anderson, a good-looking a$$&*^e.

"But the Sentry ships will be arriving soon." Rowley says. "And the Resistance raised an energy shield. The Sentries can break in but..."

"Yeah, you are right." Greg says softly. "Stop those drop ships in their tracks and deploy the Sentries. Now. Let the Sentries go to them. That way, they won't be shot down while they are still in the drop ships prematurely. Inbuilt flight systems, two long legs...we won't have to ferry them like passengers."

* * *

 **Back at the Resistance base**

The Drones are making circles about the energy dome, strafing and peppering it with plasma fire, attempting to find a gap or a weakness. The Federation troops have fallen back, readied their hovertank cannons to launch volley after volley in an attempt to penetrate the shield, but to no avail.

"Julian, keep your eyes open for any movements." Susan Heffley says.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alex, is the portal ready yet?" she asks impatiently.

"It would be half an hour to go, if the Drone attacks aren't making the whole place vibrate to its foundations. I need a calm and still energy flux for dark matter to be siphoned from the flow of time. I know its mumbo-jumbo, but in layman's terms for quantum mechanics, that's that." Alex says.

"Work on it as best as you can, OK?" the elderly commander says. She leaves the scientist to his work, heading for the shuttle. The portal, a glassy circular apparatus wrapped messily with wires like vines around a tree is connected by a rail that is constantly showered with sparks by exposed wiring. The sturdy rail runs shortly to a tubby craft where Holly Hills is pouring over some checklist. But the tears on her face are not really concealed well by that clipboard. Her trembling shoulders give it away too.

"It's OK, Holly." Susan puts a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. "We'll make it. I just know it."

"All these years," Holly whimpers. "Running, hiding, seeing everyone we know get killed or captured to become dolls for Greg to play with, I just can't believe the whole world was thrown into madness all because Greg was a chronic blamer, a misunderstood child. I should have been his girlfriend, no matter how much of jerk he could be at times, But he was pure, compared with those playboys. And then his anger and frustration at the world pushed me over the edge, to create the Sentries..."

"Don't blame yourself." Susan Heffley says firmly. "He made his choice, and we made our choices. No one can change them, or influence us either. Life was tough and unforgiving, as it is now in this war. Greg failed to understand it, and to realise he should become stronger. He did become stronger, but he did it wrongly, using killer robots. When he ran away, he had no one to turn to for help. That's our folly. We should have looked for him even intensely."

"Do you think we could bring him back home when we go back in time?" Holly asks.

"Maybe Greg wasn't as dark and misgiving when he was still a child." Susan wonders with hope. "The earlier we go back in time, the better our chances are of changing him for the better. But the main thing is to stop him from ever creating the Sentries. His creations distorted his mind and turned him into a megalomaniac."

"Oh crap!" they overhear Alex Aruda murmuring. "They're here...our base scanners have detected them." He drops his papers and bursts out of the room to accelerate the portal charging process at full swing.

"Oh no." Holly Hills whispers. She gathers up equipment and rushes off to the shuttle to rev it up.

"Julian!" Susan shouts. "The Sentries have been deployed! The drop ships released them earlier."

* * *

"I can't wait!" Rowley leaps up and down with ecstasy.

"Compose yourself," Greg says coolly. "You look more like a Star Wars fan laying siege to the cinema on the premier of Episode 8. But hey, we did camp out before at a game store for the Twisted Wizard competition."

"Here they come!" Rowley says dramatically in awe. "The terrible invincible Sentries are out to play!"

"Thought I should be saying that." quips the Chancellor as he sips his glass of champagne. "The Resistance will regret that they ever stuck up to try to challenge me. My mother will be sorry that she ever tried to wreck my world and turn me into a prisoner of my situation, where I can't do anything right and I can't have anything I wanted. And Holly Hills too, hah, that slut who always radios her disgust of my attitude over the air. I am the one disgusted with her! All I have ever wanted was to have a home free from the rabble of my bullying brothers, cool friends that would make my experiences in school a lot less hellish and a nice girl as my closest companion. And as these were denied me because my own dad called me a wimpy kid, an antisocial failure with no living skills. I tell you when this day ends, all those filthy rebels who dare to mock me as a saviour and a conqueror of this troubled world will be as dead as my father!"

* * *

 **At a Sentry drop ship...**

An immense oblong cruiser lifted above the mountains by powerful plasma uplifters approaches from afar. Its autoguns scan the skies for incoming threats, but none are present for now. It is a significant distance away from the Resistance base, but its lower deployment decks open up, panels creaking and vents hissing with a spicy mist.

The A.I pilot surges to life. "Chancellor Greg has given the order." the automatic voice says smoothly. "Deploy Units 34, 35, 36 and 37 for strike and annihilation. Withholding Protocol Line 581 for capture and interrogation. Long live the Chancellor!"

As the gaping open deployment doors and the expanse of the withering world awaits, several 'cocoons' are released with a click of promptness. They drop from the drop ship only to transform and break apart into scrap metal to reveal the breathtakingly lethal and menacing Sentries. Their bodies look fitter than the top athletes and their fists clenched so tightly that if the world were placed in their hands, they would crush it until all the whey of its bowels spurted out. Every scale of micro-armour on the Sentries, every vent and every inch of silvery grey on the Sentries' exoskeleton boasts proudly of perfection.

Their flight systems burst into a roar, and their thrusters blaze with a blue-orangy aura. These tall lean streamlined humanoids, their armour and main body structure composing of a bio-stanium layering, train their red visors, their scorching optic emitters of vengeance surrounded by dark matrix, towards the hated and vile rebel camp.

* * *

Julian dashes into a missile mound. "Aim those Tomahawks for the Sentries!" he barks. We've got to hold them off!"

"Sir, the Tomahawks can't exit the force field."a sergeant says.

"The Sentries will break in anyway." Julian scowls. "Before they penetrate the shield, launch these babies. It won't kill them but they''' be delayed for a bit."

Upon noticing the arrival of the Sentries, the Drones make one last circle about the rebel base and retreat. The Federation troops merely look on grimly as they watch their powerful counterparts arriving.

One of the silvery streamlined humanoid robots, as tall as a tree, fires up its optic lasers until it erupts fiercer than a volcano. A piercing beam of laser from the Sentry's triangular 'eye' scorches the energy field dangerously with a loud hiss, but to no avail. Other Sentries, hovering in midair aim their lasers and fire at the shield, but not one dent is burnt through the shield.

The first Sentry scans the entire structure, and calculations are scrambled and collaborated in its decisive circuits. The beauty of the Sentries, the creations of Greg Heffley, is that they can learn whenever they fail to defeat an opponent through conventional means. Either possible weaknesses are detected and exploited, or countermeasures are created literally out of thin air via the Sentries' remarkable adapting ability. Being versatile and intimidating at the same time, Greg has certainly perfected the ultimate weapon.

Upon failing to find any clear hit spot, the Sentry deduces that a powerful echo wave could part the energy particles that make up the shield dome. Relaying this information to its comrades, the Sentry's chest springs open to reveal an inner cortex, a whirling mechanism of 'tentacles' and 'cogs', undergoing a strange metamorphosis to become a powerful wave discharge chest cannon. It releases a scream that tears through the shield, causing a massive ripple to open up.

"What the..." Even Captain Julian is stunned at this terrible phenomenon.

The other Sentries also create their echo chest weapons and fire waves at the ripple, forcing a wide hole through the force field. The shield particles just cannot put themselves together. "Now!" Julian shouts, and the Resistance missile mound fires several Tomahawk cruise missiles right at the first Sentry. Unfortunately, this Sentry can multitask, its scorching laser cutting through the missiles and right into the missile mound. The last thing Julian faintly registers is the immense laser beam meeting the electronic panel next to him, slicing through the steel plating.

The explosion that takes out much of the heavy ordnance of the Resistance defences and cremates Julian violently also begins a chain of explosions that lead to the shield generators underground, which blew up spectacularly.

With the shield down, the Sentries land with a shuddering thump and start darting towards the remaining Resistance soldiers, ready to kill and destroy.

* * *

"Well done, Sentries." the Chancellor whispers wistfully, watching the Sentries stalk through the smoking mounds pass heaps of dead and wounded Resistance soldiers. "See mum. You told me I wouldn't amount to anything if I continued to be stubborn, to be a rebel. You tried to change my mind and distort my ideas, sending me to that motivational course before I got abandoned in Spag Union, a wretched prison camp. I survived, because I was strong, and not a weakling as perceived by others. But look who's the rebel now! I told you I would find you, and I would kill you, no matter what it takes."

"Sir, do you want any prisoners for the labs or for rehabilation?" an automated voice speaks up.

"TWIST, not now." Greg says. "These bastards are too worthless even to be cut up as food for dogs."

* * *

A daring soldier charges out, his AK47 rifle blaring as loudly as his cry of defiance...and his scream of agony as a Sentry laser burns through his lungs. A Sentry converts its two arms into stanium blades sharp enough to slice up steel walls as thin as potato chips and slices through a sandbag foxhole, revealing two scared privates shivering with pure terror. One sizzle of a laser, and all that remains are two petrified skeletons charred beyond recognition.

An artillery crew begins bombarding the Sentries, round after round. Explosive shells, scatter-bombs, bunk busters and all the like. A shell actually slams into a Sentry and blows its chest up. The crew laughs with glee, only to shrink back with horror as the Sentry's immolated chest repairs itself, its exposed electronics and armour regenerating. To make matters worse, its chest transforms into a shelve of explosive shells that erupt fiercely, sending shell after shell at the artillery crew and blow every single one of them sky high.

A taste of their own medicine, as they say.

A desperate corporal bursts out from a flaming mound with a flamethrower and attempts to toast the Sentry with the rage of oil-fueled fire. Instantly the Sentry adapts to the high heat by becoming encrusted with thick ice. Another soldier laces it with acid grenades, which detonate to spew a greenish liquid that eats at its legs. But the ice layering spreads to its damaged legs, further reinforcing them. The Sentry retaliates by blowing ice at its attackers, freezing them rock-solid. One slash of its stanium blade and they break up into glassy chunks. It continues its rampage by blowing ice here and there, freezing every rebel with a gun or grenade.

A door springs open to reveal a heavy laser minigun manned by two screaming soldiers in tattered uniforms, blackened by the smoke of the battle. They spray shots mercilessly at two Sentries that are skewering soldiers by the dozens with their long blades. One of the Sentries suddenly becomes as clear as a mirror, shimmering with the light of reflection. Gone are its silvery appearance, becoming essentially, unmistakably, a mirror. Not any mirror that breaks into shards upon contact, though. With its new reflective abilities, every laser bolt from the rebels' minigun bounces off the Sentry's back like springs. The two soldiers duck and gasp as they are punished severely with a hail of their own lasers.

Their punishment ends violently when two Sentry hands grab them. The poor victims scream with terror written on their faces better than a horror movie script as the towering Sentry lifts them up, only to squeal with agony before being silenced abruptly when the Sentry squeezes them till they burst like tender peaches, their entrails splattering everywhere amidst a maroon spray.

Left and right, front and back, the Sentries are tearing into bunkers, not caring whether their victims are injured or crippled. They stab, prick, blast and vaporise every last foe, including innocent refugees that are just trying not to get their heads lost literally. Two Sentries rip out a door leading to a bunker basement filled with panicky refugees and ragtag cripples. Bathing in the sweat of fear and bawling with tears of terror, this clump of miserably pitiful refugees had just been rescued by the Resistance from the perils of the mutant-infested wastelands before the siege. A baby as thin as a bone is whimpering shallowly, too weak to burst into a cry. A lad who looks rather shell-shocked, possibly not exactly in the right state of mind peers at the Sentries and stutters, "Look, butterflies!"

The two Sentries look at each other stonily as the crowd of wretched humans gibbers and cry in their state of pandemonium and confusion, like sheep surrounded by wolves. Mothers clutch at their babies and children, weeping and screaming as loudly as their husbands' knees knock, and as pitiful as the crippled and lame among their group groan. "They'll kill us all!" an old man supporting himself with a crutch howls before crumpling to the ground with a hand slamming his right chest. At that, the whole group shrink back from the open door.

The two Sentries downsize to human heights and stride into the basement, their hands transforming into those cruel blades. Their eyes flicker with the spark of vengeance and hate of their creator, as their laser optics fire up until they erupt angrily at full force. They burn and melt the disease-weakened and starving souls, poor survivors of the apocalyptic landscape, like candle wax. Screams, yells and moans of death echo throughout the bunker basement and spread outside to the rest of the camp.

The brave and stoic eyes of the men are disintegrated into pools of suffering and despair, like that of dismal cowards, as they watch Sentry blades sink into the chests of their children, their wives and their brothers and sisters, their flesh and blood. Their minds are twisted in a thrice so horribly by the sight of the Sentry lasers burning the innocent and harmless cripples and elderly alive, the heat rays searing into their innards faster than a branding-iron. To cap this inhumane genocide up, the cries and pleadings of mercy and clemency are of no significance to the Sentries.

"Don't kill me, Greg. Please! Mercy! I have a gir- AARRGGHHHH!"

"My hand! You cut it off! My hand! How am I supposed to hold my crut-" One swing of the Sentry's blade and the old lady's head goes flying out of the door, plastering the walls messily with a pinkish smear.

"My babies!" a young woman as sickly as a deathbed patient screams in a hellish tone, holding the charred remains of her twins in her bony fingers. "My babies! How could you-" Her nearly inaudible scream rips through the basement the moment two Sentry blades run her through simultaneously.

* * *

"Beautiful." Greg bemuses, sipping his third glass of champagne. "Beautiful! The design of the Sentries, their effectiveness, their precision in the art of killing and exterminating vices and pests is remarkable! My Sentries. My creations are amazing! Well done, my Sentries! Kill every last traitor and every last person that only exists to bring the human race to squalor, to disgrace, to impurity! Kill every last cripple, coward, drudge and every f^&*er whose brains has a screw loose! Protect this world from their treachery and their vileness, so that we will never again come under threat from their indifference!"

Probably he had too much to drink. His helmet is off for once. A harsh scar runs across his left eye, and he smirks with bitter pleasure written all over his battered face.

"You couldn't have said it better, boss!" Rowley coos with glee. "Even the M-rated shows couldn't match up to this."

"You may call the M-rated film directors later." Greg declares in a bloodthirsty jest. "Once they see the recording of this, they'll be giving the citizens the shows of their lives!"


	5. Chapter 4: The Hunt of the Sentries

Chapter 4

"Have the Sentries finished killing everyone?" the Federation captain asks tiredly on his radio. The black-clad marauders are getting restless and bored, waiting for the Sentries to finish the grisly work from a safe distance from the raging slaughter in the rebel camp. A Federation soldier is playing cards with his buddy at the hood of a jeep while another soldier is smoking lazily, sunbathing on a tank turret, chatting with a corporal about his latest girlfriend. Just then, something whizzes through the air, landing awkwardly on a nearby hovertank turret. It is the head of a Resistance soldier, its eyeballs jutting out and mouth opened wide with a scorched hole gaping through the entire head. The Sentry had uncannily blasted the rebel's head right into the air.

"All right soldiers!" the captain barks. "We can go in and clear up the mess after them! Let's go! For the Federation." The soldiers give a huzzah and march in, cremating every torn bit of human appendage with flamethrowers.

With every defensive structure in ruins and every Resistance soldier torn to shreds, the unstoppable Sentries stomp their way up to the main bunker. The bunker's autoguns immediately train on them, but before they can let out a murmur of defiance, a pair of Drone warheads reduced them to blackened wires fizzing noisily with sparks. As the Drone encircles the Sentries one last time before pulling out, the Sentries scan the 5 metre thick steel door and decide that lasers won't work. They immediately melt into molten lava, burning through the steel doors as easily as cutting paper with a pair of scissors.

The sizzling mass of red-orange glob of volcanic-like mass floods the entire facility, consuming every defensive autogun, Resistance soldier and obstruction. Before them, the thickest door is like cardboard and the strongest, the muscular able-bodied soldiers as breakable and burnable like the driest twig. Their screams are washed away like grime from a glass drenched with water from a tap. Every barrier sizzles into nothingness, trapped and ensnared by the lava flood. The Sentries burn their way all the way to the lowest section where the labs and portal are, to eliminate the main targets: Holly Hills and Susan Heffley.

The ceiling and upper pipes of the underground lab cave in with a reluctant groan as the molten Sentries gush in, reverting quickly to their humanoid forms upon landing on the floor. Gunfire erupts behind some tables cluttered with papers and rusty tools, showering laser bolts at the Sentries. A Sentry gets a direct hit in the head, but the gap in its visor is quickly mended by means of regenerative fibres. It incinerates the two soldiers behind the table with one intense blast.

The remaining rebels fight to the last man courageously, shooting RPG rockets and lasers at the Sentries despite knowing that they will never be able to stop the giants. No weapon in their hands will ever topple the cruel Sentries, no armour will be able to protect them from the lasers and blades of these hunters and fighters. Every last rebel soldier gives his all to hold off the terrible monsters for as long as they can. One of them, a bearded old veteran, launches himself onto the neck of a Sentry, sinking a broken blade as deep as he can. The Sentry merely rips him off and tears him apart like a chicken in the market. Another Sentry vomits molten lava all over a band of Resistance soldiers dashing in, reducing them to petrified skeletons of human misery and wretchedness.

The swish of a Sentry blade breaks a metal pillar supporting a whole cascade of newly installed pipes and wires, causing the whole mass to fall on the Sentry and crush it to the ground. But it somehow grows additional arms to push up all the rubble and hurl it all at the remaining soldiers. Echoes of screams and yells as men and women soldiers alike are run through the heart, torn to pieces, burned to a crisp by Sentry lasers and thrown mercilessly onto the walls like ragdolls, splattering them with blood. But one thing is certain, every last soldier died with a hope that Holly and Susan might be able to reverse the chain of events leading to the creation of the world's most destructive fighters.

A young teenager with his legs cleanly seared off, sprawling on the ground, plucks out a grenade pin and pushes himself up with one hand to toss it at the hated Sentries in one last ditch attempt to hold them off. Before he can even toss it, a Sentry foot comes out of nowhere and stomps on him, crushing and squishing him like a bug. A sickening sloppy sound cuts the air, accompanied with the cracking of bones. The victim simply bursts open messily like a balloon, body juices and blood drenching the floor that is already slick with blood. The hand bomb is flattened so quickly that it doesn't even detonate. The poor boy doesn't even get the chance to let out a dying scream.

"It's too late!" The Sentries turn to look upon Alex Aruda. He is standing near a whirling whirlpool of blue energy, with the unmistakable tail of a shuttle vanishing into it. One glance of Greg's robots upon the blackened rails connected to the portal all the way from an empty shuttle bay just around the corner, and the Sentries look kind of confused for once.

"Hear me, Greg!" Alex shouts boldly. "It's too late. You think you can rule the world all you like. You think you cna kill as you please, and brainwash people into thinking that you are the ideal leader, their saviour, and you sweep their brains squeaky clean of any emotion that could lead them against you. Yes, you may have given your 'people' ideal lives, but what then? I see it in your cities-people hooked to media screens and computer games like addicts and secret culling of people who grow old. You really hated old people, don't you?"

The Sentries stare at him blankly, but the Chancellor is clearly listening to every word the scientist has to say.

"Just to let you know, Susan and Holly are going back in time to stop you from ever creating the Sentries." Alex says. "We know you didn't have a good beginning to start with. You were lost, forgotten and misunderstood so badly until you cracked. But know this, Greg. Your mum really loves you, even though she made a bad mistake of sending you to a motivational camp you didn't like and letting your baby brother Manny make your life miserable. It's her mistake and she does regret it so much. She's going back in time to right the wrongs, and to talk you out of this. You don't have to be a monster, Greg. You don't have to be angry and disappointed any longer. Your family wants to help you. And they will."

* * *

"I don't f&*king care about my family!" Greg screams at the top of his voice, throwing his glass smashing onto the screen. "They are all good as dead! My dead dad, that son of a bitch of a brother Rodrick whose head is rotting in my trophy display, that putrid cunning fox of a Manny are all dead, gone and burning in hell as I speak! That woman who was my mum will die as they did, painfully and horribly and Holly will watch them all die over and over again until her brains fizzle out. And I'll clear her mind and I'll finally have her as my girl, my girlfriend, mine!"

"Just kill Alex!" Rowley chortles. "He's a traitor!"

"Absolutely!" Greg yells, wholly infuriated. "I hope your brains will rot faster than your body! I don't care if they love me or not. If they had cherished me and paid close attention to my needs, instead of pushing me away to boot camps and bossy counselors who don't give a rat's ass to my sanity, I wouldn't have created the Sentries in the first place! This world wouldn't be so vile before my eyes, what with backstabbing friends, cliche politics, girlfriend squabbles and other useless idiotic things that would surely produce whole generations of suckers."

"But you saved the day by bringing in the glorious Sentries!" Rowley croons amicably. "You cleaned the world of useless bigots, fanatics, spoiled brats and criminals."

"If they really went back in time to stop me, it'll be the worst mistake they'll ever make since putting me to Spag Union." Greg continues angrily. "First, you reject me, like Holly Hills did. All I wanted was to have a girl to share my feelings and my aspirations, and I got a scowl and sharp words in return! Absolutely humiliating for a gentleman like me! And now you want to talk me into not creating the Sentries. I mean, who are you kidding? You are robbing me of my future, my power, my Sentries, like those wicked greedy scientists! This is all that I have, and I earned it all with blood, sweat and tears. If you want to snatch my creations from my hands, you will do it over my dead body! Sentries, kill the fool and pursue the rogues! After them! After them!"

Alex is swiftly dispatched by a Sentry laser blast. His howl of agony mixed with a terrible cry of victory is cut off as his body flies through the air, smashing into a wall and breaking into half and a dark red splatter. The hulking Sentries leap into the open portal after the shuttle piloted by the duo. The moment the last Sentry leaps in, the portal closes for good.

* * *

"Sir, we have lost contact with the Sentries." the Chancellor's AI system, TWIST, announces.

"F%^k these bastards!" screams Greg in a rabid fury. He throws a punch at the screen, but fortunately, his hand safely passes through as it is of a holographic nature.

"Damn you! I won't let you get away so easily!" Greg fumes.

"Err...the Sentries are not yet fitted with the prototype tech to communicate with TWIST via time flow." Rowley stammers nervously, not delighted that his boss isn't in the best mood. "For all we know they could be alright and they might be tearing the Resistance shuttle apart as we speak..."

"Shut up, Rowley!" Greg roars. "Do me a favor and get your ass to the Department and inform Dern that the schedule has been pushed forward! Deployment of the Ultimate-Class Sentry must be done at the end of the time frame of one week!"

"One week!" Rowley gapes at the unreasonable demand. "Only one unit has been prepped with VEXAR intelligent systems to be given the green light for full upfitting!"

"I don't care if I have only one unit of Ultimate-Class Sentry!" the Chancellor growls like a lion who's lost its dinner to a pup. "I didn't create the Sentries to be team players like useless basketball players such as Leon, that selfish stuck up! That goon refused to share the court with us when we wanted to go biking! Thank goodness a Sentry disemboweled him in the Deployment. Now get your ass there before I...I..."

"Drink more champagne?" Rowley suggests.

Calming down a little, Greg says tiredly. "Alright. Now get your ass out of here!"

"We have a communications link here, sir." TWIST says, opening up another holographic screen. "I can connect you to the Department."

"Damn! Forgot about that!" yells Greg, slamming his palm into his face.

* * *

"Where in the world are we?" yells Holly amidst the roar of the flow of time, which is infinitely unmusical compared to the boom of a thousand Niagara Falls.

"Time tunnel!" screams Susan Heffley. Here they are in a tin can of a tumbler of a shuttle, an upgraded tubby US space shuttle customized specially for the trip. The vortex of lightning, stringy blue with a cloudy dreamy pink warble that swirls around them makes the journey more like a an artist's ideal tour rather than a suicidal mission. She faintly notices that the vortex around them is flowing by like a river, and they are heading against the stream.

Already, the effects of counter-current are beginning to surface. Bit by bit the shuttle is torn up, beginning with the outer white plating, shredded and blown away by the forces of the time tunnel wind, only to disappear into the sides of the tunnel and end up in some mysterious dimension.

To explain things clear, its just like salmon swimming against the current of a waterfall to lay eggs. These famous fish put their lives in peril's way to fight the push of the raging waters, getting slammed onto rocks and all the kind up the waterfall. And I ain't sure that their scales are in tip-top condition when they get there. Time flows just like a river or a waterfall, as the late Alex Aruda discovered. There is no way to stop it or to slow it down. In this case, Holly and Susan would have to act as the salmon to get back to the time when Greg was still a confused helpless youth rather than a malevolent dictator.

"Remember Holly! When that meter beeps we have to press the red button over there!" Susan says, pointing to their respective places along the whole range of messy buttons, wires and switches on the control decks. They look worse than the aftermath of a deejay sound system when a toddler's been at it. But well, Alex was rushing to finish the shuttle before the Sentries busted in.

"Oh no!" Holly peers at a green screen. "The Sentries went into the portal after us!"

"We've got to fend them off!" Susan declares. As the shuttles hurtles through time to goodness knows where, as much of Alex's research was based on theoretical objections and physics mechanics, which can be a lot more different in other realms or dimensions, Susan reaches for the controls to the turret guns.

Firing away at the Sentries, she manages to score a few good hits. The violent whiplash of the screaming pulse bolts knocked two Sentries off the shuttle into the ravages of the time-tunnel. Being a time tunnel is just like going through a subway tunnel. Dark, smelly and dangerous, but that's if you are exploring the subways on foot instead of dozing off in a comfy train. So it is with the Resistance duo's journey back in time. The two unfortunate Sentries got ripped up before their systems could begin to adapt, what fragments of their existence distributed unevenly throughout the entire universe and dimensions...

* * *

 **In the Narnian world...**

"For Narnia!" High King Peter roars as he brandishes his gleaming swords, the powerful armies of centaurs, fauns and Cats charging along the hills growling, screeching and cheering towards the hordes of the Tisroc's armies. For it is the Golden Age, when Narnia has never been more powerful, that no army could ever hope to subdue it.

But well, the Tisroc can get a little bit grouchy with a Narnian thorn at his side. His armies are presently attempting to breach the Narnian borders, but that is not our story here. The point is that the moment King Peter calls his armies to charge forth...

"Clonk!" A Sentry hand knocks on his head, hard enough to give him a spiking headache but not unseat him from his stead, a white unicorn.

He looks down at the peculiar object and asks aloud, "Anyone's gauntlet or breeches?"

* * *

 **Somewhere in Middle-earth...**

As Gandalf gazes up at the horrendous Balrog with his staff and sword at the ready for the inevitable battle, he declares with defiance, "YOU SHALL NOT-"

The roar of a thousand thunderstorms, the gust of a hellish breeze and the slamming impact of a Sentry's headless and limbless torso reduces the bridge where they are at to crumbling rubble, sending the duo down into the depths of darkness.

Glancing up at the Fellowship, which is quickly diminishing in sight, the Wizard cries out, "I WAS ABOUT TO SAY...PASS...FLY, YOU FOOLS!"

* * *

So you get it...once you get punched into the sides of the time-tunnel, you get deposited to different universes, in pieces.

But even if Susan Heffley and Holly Hills weren't going to be diced up by time gradient, they could be otherwise sliced and obliterated by the remaining three Sentries, who are presently cutting into the back hull with their welders.

Susan fires more shots from the powerful turret in a fit of despair, but a Sentry's armour adapts in time to absorb the shot as easily a sponge gets soaked with water. It reaches out with one hand and crushes the turret like a sheet of junk paper, its circuitry and components scrunched up and twisted horrendously. There goes the duo's only form of defense.

"They got the turret!" Susan gasps.

"Hold on, we are reaching in.."

The Sentries are tearing out the top framework on the shuttle body, their stanium blades swishing into the cabin for Susan's head. She screams as she dodges cleanly, loosing some misbegotten hair. The shuttle jolts and quivers in a frenzy, with all alarms and sensors beeping and the time-wind screaming. Holly knows that by now the Sentries will have their hide by hook or crook, or they will be torn to bits by the volatile time tunnel once their shuttle's total integrity expires. So her hand slams on the button a tad too early.

"We haven't arrived there at al-" Susan howls before the entire craft sinks into a dark oblivion, carrying the Sentries along with them. Or did they? The upper panels covering the shuttle, on which the Sentries had been clinging on to dislodges once the craft switches to varp mode-sending them to their dooms into the sides of the time tunnel and eventually to others universes or timelines or dimensions. But for brevity's sake, they went somewhere...in pieces.

Well, except for one. The mechanisms of time travel, let alone dimensional journeys are so interlinked and confusing that they can be so careless at times in terms of clean complete annihilation. And that lone Sentry, separated from his doomed compatriots goes spelunking into a familiar world where not so long ago, twenty-four kids were locked up in a televised arena to fight for their lives, where not so long ago, battles rages and ravaged in one revolution and one invasion, where one country girl who reluctantly became a heroine, a survivor and eventually a lover and a mother, is celebrating her birthday...


	6. Chapter 5: Happy birthday Katniss!

Chapter 5

 **In the Victor's Village, District 12...**

 **Katniss's story**

The warmth of the sun rays that enter through a crack in the window shutters pulls me from the comforting oblivion of sleep. I open my eyes to find myself lying on Peeta's bare chest, my unbraided hair messily spread out virtually in all directions. Peeta really likes it when I allow him to tie my hair or even when he sees a few loose locks of hair dangling aside otherwise a neat and classical braid. Not many men I know who like girls based on their hairstyles, but Peeta once admitted to me that he did.

To reward him for that compliment, we had an extremely steamy night.

Mmmm...those abs. Peeta has really good abs. Being a baker's boy, hauling flour bags about as daintily as a girl does with rag dolls sure did make a well- toned man out of Peeta. No wonder his chest is a preferable substitute for my pillow. Wait...things are really getting steamy. I don't want that to accumulate into a sensual morning session which could risk our daughter, Katniss Jr, or Jay, catching us in the act as she did two months ago...on flight training. I don't want to go into the details...much too embarassing.

Daughter, huntress, Tribute, Victor, victim (political, based on President Snow's bloody threats), Mockingjay, soldier, assassin, survivor, lover, wife and mother. In this life, I have played many roles. Roles that I had never dreamed that would cut me up, cast me into the depths of despair and agony, and even reinforce my natural resolve to be a brave fighter. Now and then I still get nightmares about Prim's death, the brutal slaughter of innocent kids in the Games, but they don't spook me too much. I have learned to be brave, no matter what.

When Panem opened its doors to the outside world, revealing its presence ever since the Dark Days, I got thrown into a whirlwind of politics, diplomats and international affairs. I was just an image, a figurehead of Panem for the world to see. And then North Koreans abducted me for no fault of mine. I guess they hate every symbol or inkling that speaks of freedom, especially a living dangerous Mockingjay who caused upheavals and trouble everywhere she went. In prison, I stepped in to be executed to save an innocent Korean lady sentenced to death for illegal possession of firearms. I simply pretended to be her. So they put a bullet in my head, only to realise that they shot the wrong girl.

But Aslan decided that it wasn't time for me to go yet. I still had much to do, he said. I met him a few times. You can say he's like sort of an angel, but he's a good deal more than that. He's mysterious, but kind and all-knowing. He sees a lot of things that others don't, and his wisdom astonishes me even today. To say that he's the force we call Good would best exactly describe him. But in many worlds he's called many things. I call him Aslan because the Narnians call him that. They look up to him as their Lord. When he's in the form of a man, some call him Jesus. In many worlds he has taken the role of creator, god and supreme ruler. As you can see, I usually look up to him in reverence and respect. He's greater than any universal big-shot.

When I was 'killed' once again fighting against the Decepticon invasion a few years later, leaving behind Peeta, my son Bagel and my girl Jay, Aslan sent me to this place called Narnia, where he has his main domain. There, Legolas, a nimble elf famous for his role in fighting Sauron, an agent of the Dark One (essentially evil as we know it) and Master Chief trained me for my future missions.

Aslan told me that I was chosen to be one of his champions because I was a fighter. Not that I always rebelled against authority, but that I never gave up. My freedom was taken from me in the Hunger Games. The freedom to live to the fullest, and even the freedom to marry, as Snow forced me to marry Peeta for his political agendas. And that resulted in the birth of a new revolution, a new spark of hope and an inferno of courage. My sister was torn from my hands, Prim, who was the very person I started all this for. My friends were killed before me eyes. Rue, speared brutally in the unforgiving Games. Finnick, butchered by lizard mutts in the Capitol, Mags, that poor old soul forced to sacrifice her life in a poisonous fog in my second Games.

But their faces, and their legacy push me on to continue to fight, no matter the cost.

After my training, I came back to Panem, where my daughter Jay had become the new Mockingjay, the new symbol of freedom, to fight off Athena Snow and the Decepticons. We dealt with them successfully, and now I don't think that there'll be anything else coming along to disturb our peaceful lives...

A hunger is growling rather viciously in me, and I feel a bit concerned about my unchecked libido. Peeta surely doesn't mind morning sessions, but once we get started, we can't stop. It's surely spill over into the afternoon. We can afford it, but if Jay comes in to check on us...she'll be making a din. Jay's squeamish about sex, like I was, but I know she's trying not to complain much. But she still pouts when Haymitch teases us about it.

Peeta is still dead to the world, so I decide to give him a surprise. I run a trail of kisses up his abs, but he moves not a single muscle. My lips brush his chest all the way up to his neck and finally when my lips meet his, he stirs and murmurs, "Nice surprise, Katniss. Happy birthday, Girl on Fire."

I giggle and kiss him deeply. "Thought you should be giving me my birthday surprise." I say.

"Yes, of course." Then Peeta's strong arms take hold of me and he flips me over. I gasp with delight as we tumble off the bed with a clatter, preparing myself for his pleasures...

* * *

We quickly shower, get dressed and hop downstairs to a gorgeous breakfast laid out specially for me. According to Peeta, Bagel's getting the cake at the bakery. He baked it at the bakery secretly so that I wouldn't have an inkling about it (it's simply awesome, Bagel had promised). Cheese buns with pecan seeds, my favourite delicacy upgraded. Blueberry pastry lined with orange preserves. Something that looks more like a kiwi smoothie, but if it is kiwi, it'll be my third time trying out kiwi. I'm still enjoying new things every day. Classic sausages with eggs. And the lamb stew. And more rolls that look like Bagel's work. He's a whiz at baking, unlike Jay whose comical attempts results in lumpy sculptures. I roll my eyes at Peeta, and he says, "What?"

"You want me to put on a few kilos?" I say mischeviously.

"Don't worry, we'll lose them afterwards." he says mischeviously with a wink. I wrap my arms around him and our lips meet. Just as our tongues are making contact, Haymitch coughs embarrassingly and says, "You can save that for later."

Haymitch!

How could we have missed him? He is just seating there at the table with a cup of coffee. "Erm..." I'm momentarily lost for words. "Sorry, I got caught up..."

"Happy birthday, sweetheart." Haymitch grins. "May the odds be ever in your favour. Thirty-eight now and still you two are having things steamy and hot!"

"Prime of life, huh?" Peeta smirks unabashedly.

"Absolutely." our old mentor says. "Sit down! Sit down! The birthday girl should have her breakfast treat! By the way, Peeta, I wasn't surprised when I heard all that giggling and rumbling and later..." he sighs dreamily. "...screaming and cursing of passion..."

"I think you had too much to drink last night." I try to brush him off as I sit down.

"Maybe," he shrugs as if it didn't matter. "and last night I heard more screaming and cries from the Mockingjay's house when I was trying to sleep. In fact, for many nights its become a midnight pastime to listen to your antics. Twenty years ago, I wouldn't have imagined that you two would become love-smitten cuddly-bubblies...with a hint of lust."

I feel so shy that all I do is smile and look at my coffee, blushing furiously. That's when I notice how disheveled Haymitch is.

"Sorry for depriving you of your beauty sleep." I say apologetically.

"Don't be." Haymitch starts laughing as if the whole matter were a joke to him. I find this quite alarming because if he could hear us so loud at night, what's to happen if the whole District were kept awake by our lovemaking. Peeta and I are not sex maniacs, but well, we have to catch up on the time lost since I left him for training. Five years is a long time, for me. "Don't be sorry." Haymitch continues, chuckling naughtily like a schoolboy who is planning a nasty prank. "Your love programs are kind of amusing to watch and listen to, not to mention entertaining."

"You spied on us..." Peeta says quietly.

"How could I not?" Haymitch complains. I try not to remember his lustful expression taking form when Johanna stripped down to nothing in that elevator. "Not only you made out as if there was no tomorrow. The boy was quite loud, gasping and shouting your name, Katniss. He's usually quiet so it was a fresh change. But you, sweetheart, wow. You were really into it."

"What do you mean?" I inquire.

"Really into it." he says as he sips his coffee. He starts chuckling as he says, "Your moans and screams just kept me laughing head over heels. Boy, you were screaming some really funny things. Hard to go to sleep remembering some of the words you were shouting as your man did you!"

"Don't..."I say warningly.

"You were saying...no make that shouting, 'Faster, Peeta, faster!'. And last month you were shouting from your bedroom, 'Be a man, Peeta. Get your girl the fire! Arrgh! I'm on Fire!" His voice hits a high note as he mimics the dramatics.

I faintly remember that time I had just sneaked in three bottles of wine for Peeta and I to share and I ended up drinking two because he'd insisted that it'll affect his performance.

Haymitch continues, "And there was this one time you were just yelling like crazy, and you screamed so loud that I spilled my drink. You screamed 'Oh, Peeta. Hit me in the cookie...hit me there, yeah. Give me your spunk, give it all-"

"GIVE YOUR WHA-HA-HA?" a brash teenage girl bursts in through the kitchen door, her face fired up with astonishment. Brown hair tied in a braid, olive skin, she could be a copy of me. The only thing that differentiates me from her is her blue eyes and her distaste for romantic escapades.

"Never mind, Jay. We were just discussing some adult stuff. Some serious adult stuff." Haymitch says seriously.

Jay strides in. I expect bluster, but she scowls and says, "Very well." She's grown tall and strong, and she's a better fighter than me. She took the bloody task of fighting off Decepticons rather easily, and she hasn't complained of nightmares that usually follow after the violence, as it did to me and Peeta. But she sometimes can get pretty rash at times, one time fighting off thousands of Terrorcons at one go, refusing reinforcements. If I were a rebel, then she's the chief of them. But Jay really cares about many things and many people.

"Happy birthday mum." My daughter whips out a wonderful bouquet of roses, her scowl melting into a beam. Red roses at their prime, their tender petals still with glistening moisture.

"Thank you." I say as I take the flower. "Jay, where did you get them?"

"I flew all the way to Switzerland to get them!" Jay exclaims proudly.

A shocked silence hits the house, all of us knowing how infamous Jay is for overstepping borders and crossing limits.

"You...what?" Haymitch sputters. "What? You thought I walked all the way there?" Jay retorts. "I'm the Mockingjay, come on! I just put on my wing packs and went."

"You could have violated the air space of a dozen countries to get there." Peeta says gravely.

"Well, I switched on my stealth mode." Jay says. "I could have bought normal flowers from the florist around the corner, but I told myself only the best for mum!"

I decide not to reproach her, knowing how well-meaning she is. "You didn't have to fly over the ocean for a bouquet of flowers, but thank you. This is beautiful." I give her a big hug.

"Get me some chilled beers overseas next time." Haymitch says, looking extremely envious. "I stopped by at Germany to get Steinlager! Chilling at your house now!"

Haymitch looks so thrilled that we have to laugh. Just then, Jay's intercom rings. She excuses herself and takes the call. "Hey, what's up? Look, if you want to complain about my intercontinental flight, I'd say that it was all for the Mocking-"

"I don't know about any intercontinental flight." Pascal Latier, Bettee's protege says. "But you better get back to base and fast. A mysterious object has landed in District 12 and the Peacekeeper command says that its an offensive alien invader even worse than the Terrorcons. Some kind of big robot with lasers and long blades, not to mention it can adapt quickly to any attack, making it extremely impervious. You're the best we've got, so they're calling for you, Jay. By the way, send my regards to your mum! Happy birthday, Mrs. Mellark."Then he signs off.

"Hey! I took the day off!" Jay pouts. "They didn't get the memo?"

"It's all right, darling." I say reassuringly, putting my arms about her. "You need to do your work. We know it's important."

"You are a soldier. A very special one." Peeta says. "We understand if you can't stay."

"But it's your birthday, mum." Jay says sadly, her blue eyes looking despondent. "I don't want to go."

"Wait, did Pascal just mention District 12 was attacked?" Haymitch chips in.

Silence reigns for a moment before I urge Jay, "Go, Jay. People's lives are in danger. You need to protect them."

"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine." Peeta beams.

With her parent's blessings, Jay hops on her bike outside, waves goodbye to us and speeds off to Helios Bay to be fitted in her Mockingjay suit, a powerful unstoppable contraption with deadly golden wings, to face this new threat.


	7. Chapter 6: Strike on District 12

Chapter 6

 **Jay's story**

"We thought it was a meteorite." Pascal says over the intercom.

"And then it transformed into some kind of Terrorcon mutant. On my mother's birthday!" I say angrily. "I hate it when f&*king aliens disrupt my family life. I should send them a bill for it. And they'll pay for it by laying their heads on a platter."

"Well, invaders don't exactly book an appointment for your mother's birthday!" Pascal Latier says dryly. I am on my way to the District 12 city center on my bike, the Janus 3 after having don my suit and got geared up for a big fight. The entire road is quite clear of traffic, save for a few cars, a couple of Peacekeeper tanks and jeeps and passing by two military roadblocks, where the guards wave me on.

"Jeesh, I hope my mum's not featured on galactic advertisement billboards!" I say. "People just want to attack Panem on the Mockingjay's birthday. I'm sure it's on purpose! To hell with coincidence. If they like her so much, why not write a book about her? Or best, make a damnit mega-blockbuster movie!"

* * *

 **In post apocalyptic Greg's world...**

The Chancellor raises the polished golf club and makes a magnificent swing. But he's not at any fresh green paradise, bullying a tiny pitiful ball into tripping right into a shallow hole marked cheerfully with a snappy flag. He is in his private quarters, taking a swing at a traitor's ass.

The man, dressed in filthy rags that were once elaborate fittings of a brave sergeant, screams as the club smashes into his bottom with maximum impulsive force. "You know, we can keep going on and on like this." Greg says happily as if he were really playing in an actual golf tournament, beating Tiger Woods with his impressive skills. "I kept you alive because you knew names. Names of people who raided supply trains and gypsies to provide materials to make that darn time portal. Names of top brass in the Resistance who direct ragtag Anglo pirates to raid New Caliphate ships for higher-grade materials. So give me some names."

"F&^k you." the man sputters. His bottom is purple with bruises. Greg had forcefully put him in a medieval-like stocks, so that the victim's arms were restrained in a heavy slab of wood, leaving his arse exposed to all forms of abuse including golfing.

"I don't remember the name "f&*k' taught at school, though I was called a great deal of that by my brother." Greg says as he takes another hard swing with the golf stick. The bellow of the man echoes throughout the quarters, but this does not make a difference to Greg's bodyguards who look on stonily.

The Chancellor's lacky, Rowley Jefferson is reading a book. "Hey boss," he suggests eagerly. "why don't you try a putt? And on his feet?"

The doomed man looks up with horror. "Why, that's an excellent idea." Greg exclaims, reaching for the golf bag. "You sure that those bloody ideas aren't sprouting out of that book you're reading."

"Come on, boss. This book is the Hunger Games, written by Suzanne Collins." says Rowley. "I know it's a book about kids being sent into an arena to kill each other as part of a political tool of fear, but it doesn't encourages readers to beat the crap out of people with golf sticks. "

"Still," remarks Greg. "I admire the way the main heroine Katniss creates a ruckus wherever she goes, causing rebellions, fights and spats. Peacekeepers hunted her down, a President called for her extermination, even teenagers stalked her in those bloody competitions. Just like me. Wherever I went, wherever I ran to, I was followed by police, snitched on by traitorous passersby and chased by military helicopters. I believe we do have something in corner, and that we were both deeply disliked. Still, Rowley. I should be trying out that golf putt now."

* * *

 **Back to Panem, District 12...**

 **Major Darius's story**

"Open fire!" I order. The two white Peacekeeper tanks erupt with cannon fire, sending hard-bitten shells slamming into a strange unearthly menace that makes no sound except for metallic grunting. And nothing seems to kill the robot that had landed unceremoniously right in the middle of District 12 out of the blue in the morning. Too bad it was market day, so the chaos that broke out was rather ugly. The alien robot crashed landed into the Hunger Games memorial, a sculpture of freedom upheld by a bronze Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay, smashing the statue into bits. Everybody started screaming, panicking and running about thinking it is another Decepticon attack. Panem is still recovering from the Decepticon invasion, you see.

Except that this wasn't a bloody Terrorcon with plasma weapons. This robot seemed like the Devil itself. A smooth slender humanoid with an angry red visor for eyes. Its body is so devilishly streamlined I don't think it is made of any kind of metal or alloy that comes into my mind. At first, the creature crawled out of the crater and scanned the area with a light green ray. I happened to be on patrol here, so I called for backup, pulled out a megaphone and asked it, "Who are you? State your identity." For I had been assuming that it was just a harmless extraterrestrial traveler lost on his way.

The being then released some kind of recorded transmission, "Surrender, drop your weapons. The Sentries will eliminate you upon failure to comply."

"Weapons are our tools as our protocol demands. But no worries, we won't harm you." I had yelled. "We are the Peacekeepers. You are now in District 12, in Panem, on planet Earth. Have you lost your way, Sentry? You seem to be a security agent from-"

Then its red visors had erupted, firing a long beam that blew my Peacekeeper jeep flying. I was unfortunate to be standing on top of it, so I crashed to the ground, taking the brunt of the fall. The other soldiers opened fire, only to be vaporised by the Sentry lasers. Then backup arrived, and a massive battle broke out. Tanks fired, artillery cannons erupted, machine guns rattled and hovercraft missiles hissed. But it simply withstood everything the Peacekeepers have had to offer, and took all our offensive attacks as easily as a blade of grass tickling its hide. Then it retaliated by firing that awful laser, destroying quite a number of buildings, cutting down a big portion of the Justice Building and sending up in smoke a significant amount of Peacekeeper vehicles.

We are presently trying to hold it off from continuing its rampage of destruction, as we evacuate people away to safety. Women and children scream and cry as they are herded into vans and driven off. Shopkeepers and sellers yell and curse as they see their stalls and abandoned produce smashed and trodden beneath the giant feet of the Sentry. An injured Peacekeeper is sobbing as he scampers as far as he can from the menacing monster, his right arm a bloody stump. That beast just shot his arm off...

To my horror, the Sentry has trained its sights on the two tanks and scans them with that green light. The two tanks open fire furiously, their cannons and machine guns spitting lead at it. A strange covering of some shiny alien metal climbs up the Sentry's body like slime, proving to be resilient even to the most armour-piercing round. Its fist clenches before smashing to the ground, creating a tremendous shockwave that smashes the two tanks off their caterpillar tracks and knocks me sprawling to the ground. For a minute or two I fear my hearing has been robbed from me, an incessant ringing overcoming my auditory senses.

I scramble into the shop on my right, where a rocket launcher team stays hidden, together with a tourist couple from Great Britain. Too bad those visitors chose today to go on a tour in District 12. "Damnit, that thing got the tanks." I say to Lavinia, my fellow Peacekeeper and lover.

"We could try the acid shells." the rocket launcher specialist speaks up.

"Good. Load up and just shoot the damn thing in the head."

As the team is preparing, Lavinia touches Darius on shoulder lightly. "You OK?" she asks gently. Darius sighs deeply, "Thought we would have enough of fighting." he says. "A hundred men dead in one morning. Thirty tanks gone to pieces and ten hovercraft obliterated. What kind of robot kills like that?" Darius's shoulders are trembling with fear. "Good men too who died." A blast is heard, and the innards of Peacekeepers splatter across the pavement in front of the shop. "It's coming close." the specialist says.

I glance at the two foreign tourists, and I am relieved that they are in no worse condition. A big dirtied, that's all. No telling how many tourists have been killed by this bloody machine. "Sorry to have you caught in a crossfire." I apologise sincerely.

"On the other hand, we are quite charmed by your District." the British man says cordially. "We aren't afraid because we keep hearing that the Mockingjay lives here, and nothing can stop her. Maybe she'll come along and sort that chap out."

"Charles!" His wife admonishes him. "That wilderbeast just crushed the flower stall! I was about by some beautiful primroses there before the old codger came along and scared the willies out of everyone! I have never seen such fresh primroses and I never will."

"Primroses!" Mr Charles remarks. "The Mockingjay's sister! I remember reading that plague in the Mockingjay Memorial in the Capitol after we came from Heathrow!"

The specialist launches the acid rocket which smashes right into the limb of the Sentry. The Sentry's arms merely repairs itself, metallic fibres synthesized out of thin air, covering up the damage. It turns its vengeful visor no the shop. "Get out of here!" Darius screams as he prepares to be vaporised.

The British wife screams, but no laser comes. Instead, the Sentry turns to its right just in time to welcome the wheel of Jay's bike, smashing right into its head and toppling it over. Jay, the daredevil she is, swerves and takes a sharp U-turn to face the new enemy. She slams down her battle visor over her communications headscreen.

The Mockingjay's daughter steps off her bike and strides confidently towards the reeling Sentry. As she passes by the shop where my squad and I are hiding, the British couple start chattering about her gleaming gold-and-platinum armour with fiery accents, flanked by a pair of marvelous mechanical wings.

"Is that the Mockingjay?" whispers the wife excitedly.

"That's her daughter. Katniss Jr, or Jay as locals call her." grins the bespectacled husband. "She was the hero who fought the Decepticons off the planet. She's following in her mother's footsteps. Strong and dangerous like her mum, they say."

"You know, you should become a professor in Panem studies." Lavinia quips. "I'm interested in these kind of things." Mr Charles clarifies. "And actually I'm a professor in political science. I'm on the board at Cambridge."

The Sentry jumps to its feet and slams its fist down on Jay, but the Mockingjay grabs its fist just as it is about to fly at her. Then she actually tosses the fellow flying over the whole shop, crashing into more shops behind us, a remarkable feat of strength. Jay's wings unfold and she leaps into the air after the Sentry.

"Wow, she can fly?" Mr Charles wonders aloud.

"Let's get outta here!" I shout as a Peacekeeper jeep speeds towards us to pull us out of harm's way. "Her battles are always messy, so we had better stop gawking and watching the fight! Trust me, it's gonna get ugly."


	8. Chapter 7: The Duel of the Mockingjay

Chapter 7

 **Jay's story**

"Let's see what you've got!" I mutter as I drop from the sky like a bullet and ram into the Sentry, slashing at it with my razor wings. But I get punched back flying into the sky. My jet boots come to life, steadying myself in flight. I retreat slightly from it, launching golden feathers from my wings that are sharp enough to slice through a steel bunker like a knife on butter. The blades embed themselves into the Sentry's body, but then a shocking transformation takes place.

Its body turns gold all over, from head to toe, no joking. "Adapting powers." I whisper to myself. Launching more gold feathers at it are as effective as cutting a stone with a ruler. I pull out my crossbow rifle and burn several big holes in the Sentry. An upgrade of Pascal's design, its particle beam is intense enough to make the strongest Decepticon shield runny as egg white. I fire and fire, allowing its body to be severely decimated and reduced to scrap metal. The moment I spot signs of it adapting to my crossbow's firepower, a strange auburn metal creeping up its body, I switch to my wrist missiles, both explosive and nitrogen.

I leap over it and fire a quick missile that blows a larger cavity in its chest, sending another nitrogen missile in tow. The robot is frozen from the inside, helpless to my consequent attacks. I fire my nitrogen missiles at its legs, freezing it in place, and switch to my duel guns. Mini crossbow replicas of my main rifle, except that when they start talking, they don't stop and it hushes up adversaries who are trying to put up a debate.

I shower the frozen Sentry with fury, blasting chips of armour off the remnants of its chest. I suspect I hit some vital electronics as a few sparks burst violently from its gaping wound. Just when I'm thinking my firepower can outmatch it, the sly beast fires a laser shot from its visor point blank at my face that I have a few second to drop my guns and pull out my duel battle blades. I gasp as I cross my blades out of intuition to block the searing blast, and grunt as I find myself fighting against the force of the powerful Sentry laser. It feels like Galvatorn, the late Decepticon tyrant ramming his head into my blades non-stop.

My feet skid back awkwardly and beads of sweat drip from my brow from the heat of the laser. Still, the Sentry relentlessly keeps his laser trained on me, stubbornly waiting for me to crumple and allow the bloody laser to burn through my innards. Come on, I didn't survive one alien invasion only to be killed by only one alien soldier from goodness knows where. _Mockingjay killed by alien robot_ , I can see it in the news headlines flashing before my eyes. That would be pretty shameful, wouldn't it? To cap it all, it's my mother's birthday! The Mockingjay's birthday!

My bike zooms in via remote command courtesy of my headscreen interface. It releases a few rounds' worth of cannon fire, blasting its head clean off. My bike cannon isn't a ballistic weapon like most Peacekeeper weapons, but a third-generation energy minigun that turns the toughest Terrorcons into mincemeat. The laser ray immediately melts down and I pounce at the headless Sentry with my blades swinging.

To my horror, the Sentry actually breaks out of its ice shackles despite the fact that it should be downright dead. Who can fight without a head? Its arms transform into long cruel blades in an instance and my advance is broken miserably by its stabs. I am forced to parry and swing my swords defensively to ward off any potentially dangerous blows. A chill runs down my spine as a new head, complete with visor and all, pops out like a potato from the ground. It stares down at me menacingly, the nine-feet tall giant hungering for my violent demise. A year and a half of fighting with Decepticons didn't exactly prepare me for facing such a nemesis that simply does not die or give up.

I have no choice but to move in to battle. My jet boots ignite and I fake leaping up to ascend to flight. The Sentry mistakenly anticipates it, only to have me dart in, giving a rebel yell. I successfully slice off its right arm-sword and cut a long gash into its chest, exposing its insides once more. My wrist flame thrower activates, toasting its insides through the gash. Its left blade comes down on me, but I surprise myself by spinning about in a flurry of gold, my razor-sharp wings shredding chunks of its armour before leaping into the air before its face. Its laser ignites again, but I fire a wrist missile right into its face.

The explosion blows us both backwards from each others. Before the Sentry can scan me and decipher my weaknesses, I waste no time in barreling in for the attack. This seems extremely rash, considering that it has two blades as long as lamp posts. My adrenaline is roaring at full steam in my veins too fiercely that the imagination of the blades halving me, cutting into my bones like paper, is as conceivable as a dreamy cloud. Our blades clash again and for an hour, we slash, hack, push and kick at each other, not wanting to surrender. I wonder if the Sentry is slowly adapting to my moves, as it is continuing to be more brutal in its attacks, slamming its blades so close to me that I could lose a few strands of hair.

Ultimately, the Sentry meanly forces me to the Justice Building, which is thankfully devoid of any civilians or Peacekeepers. It fights me up the great stairs leading to the main doors, where my mother would have entered to await the train that would take her to the Hunger Games. Without warning, its laser erupts and I have to cross blades again to block the blast. Then I am clubbed to the side by the flat blades of its swords.I slam onto a pillar so violently that it crumbles onto me. For a moment, I feel as weak as a limp pancake on Bagel's griddle. I feel incensed that my protective battle visor is cracked. A choking cough shakes me up severely, dust scattered everywhere. My inbuilt regulatory systems informs me that my armour integrity is at 80%. The towering Sentry glances down at me with spite written all over its visor, as the laser starts building up. I try to get up, but the broken half of the pillar has fallen on my legs, trapping me effectively. Out of despair, I summon my psi powers.

A prototype psychokinetic program built into my Mockingjay suit in the beginning, the Psi power serves to augment my strength and capabilities. Meant to be used in lifting up rubble that trapped disaster victims, I found better uses for it. With a single thought, I can sent any object flying at a target without even touching it. But the program had its disadvantages too. I overused it to battle Galvatron, only to use up all my suit fuel reserves and black out. My survival was a miracle, but my eventual adaption of the Psi ability even without the suit was a mystery. Evolution, perhaps? I'm not a biology whiz, so I don't care.

I sometimes play tricks on my brother Bagel by sending pies and cakes on him using my telekinesis, leading to a full-scale food fight.

Summoning my mental powers, I will the broken chunk of pillar to leave the ground and hover in the air above the Sentry. The humanoid looks up at it stupidly before I smash the pillar into its visor. I leap onto the Sentry and sink my blades so deeply into its chest that they poke up from behind. I begin to pull the blades up its body to quarter it up like a roast chicken, but the entire fighter blows up prematurely. I barely register a bright flash, a sudden burst of heat and I find myself smashing into more pillars outside the Justice Building.

Some cold liquid seeps into my arms, and I know my suit systems are injecting inhibitors into my body to prevent me from blacking out or deteriorating. My Mockingjay suit enables me to take the most brutal damage that would normally kill humans, but sometimes there's a limit to everything. I used to go full-time on inhibitors, so I fought like a bloodthirsty Viking warrior. The side effects which included horrid nightmares and paralyzed body functions hid me hard, so now I only use inhibitors in emergencies. I guess my suit integrity must have registered a dangerous level of damage.

Using my Psi powers once more, I will two lamp posts behind the Sentry to be plucked out and rammed right into its arse. The Sentry plucks them out and tosses them at me. I duck and fire an electro missile that should kill any robots with electronic systems. It slams into it all right, but then it adapts quickly into a plated beast with cracks all over its body, spilling with molten blue. I find enough time to somersault away as it releases an overwhelming EMP discharge that breaks countless windows and rips bricks and metal off buildings.

I decide desperately to go melee, so I charge at it and wrestle it to the ground with my bare hands. Its visor releases another EMP discharge, but I twist its neck aside to allow the blast to harmlessly tear into a van. My gauntlets automatically become my harder and padded to prepare for a pummeling as I start bashing the Sentry up. I smash and beat the crap out of it, crouching over it fallen form, but to no avail. Its chets opens up to reveal another EMP cannon which fires before I can react. The Sentry shots me cleanly away from it.

I fly crashing into the tents of some roadside stalls, badly battered. I don't remember a time when I was left in this condition by merciless Decepticons. I can hardly see through my battle visor, its so cracked. The shadow of the Sentry looms over me, and my heart sinks as I see those long blades unsheathed once more. "I guess this is the end." I think wistfully to myself, as the Sentry prepares to run me through while I am down, immobilised and extremely vulnerable.

Then an explosive shuriken sticks onto the Sentry's chest out of the blue. The Sentry again look down stupidly at the blade before it goes off, sending it flying back to steps up the Justice Building.

"Jesse!" I yell as I look up to see a familiar friend.

Jesse Owens was the first District 12 Victor of the Hunger Games. Recruited by President Snow to train his Peacekeepers for his impressive performance in the Games, he was eventually cyrogenically frozen to protect him as a frozen asset when the Rebellion was nearing the Capitol. Eventually he was taken into custody by Athena Snow, who wanted to continue her grandpa's legacy of terror. But then I attacked the convoy that was transporting his freeze-chamber, and since that day, he's been my best fighting mate. Besides being a hell of a deadly swordsman, Jesse has regenerative powers, obtained from surviving a tracker jacker attack. I'll take him as an ally anytime, any day.

"Where did you go all this while?" I say as Jesse pulls me up to my feet. He left to trek into the wilderness after we defeated Athena Snow and the Decepticons. He's still very mysterious in many ways. Jesse does odd things like meditating at the dead of night or balancing on barbwire in winter, but he's amicable.

"Nowhere." Jesse says. "Looks like you've got a bit of a scrape, Jay."

"I'm all right." I say wearily. "Well, your suit doesn't look its best, does it?" Jesse points out the torn bits of my gleaming Mockingjay armour. Some outer plating is gone or cracked. "Pascal won't be pleased." I scowl. Jesse, clad in his trademark ninja suit, draws his katana sword. "Look, Jay." he says. "I saw a bit of your battle, and from what I can see, we have to cut this robot up quickly and toss the parts as far from each other as you can."

"What if it grows them back?" I sputter. "The Sentry's head grew back!"

"I don't think its like a starfish." Jesse says. "If it were, we would be fighting with hundreds of Sentries by now. Maybe the replacement body parts just sprout out of the torso, so we need to burn it up at high intense heat."

"My extricating laser can be heated up to three hundred degree celsius!" I say. The laser tool again was designed to slice through the hardest steel to free disaster victims trapped in the rubble of fallen skyscrapers, but again I found another use for it. "Alright, but don't use it until I say so. I'll go any distract the Sentry. By the way, wish your mum Happy Birthday for me!"

"But aren't you staying back for the celebrat-" I sputter, but he dashes off at the Sentry, spinning a primitive bolo, a projectile of ropes useful for ensnaring the legs of scoundrels attempting to make a run for it. He deftily lets it fly. The Sentry tries to stop it by stamping on it, but the bolo flies around it and wraps about its legs. Jesse throws my bolos and the Sentry attempts to advance, only to stumble and crash to the ground.

I bound in and in a matter of minutes I slice off the Sentry's arms and legs like a turkey. I have to switch my blades to fire mode, so they are immensely heated and can cut through this tough steel composition. I swiftly behead the Sentry, but the Sentry rolls over, knocking me off. Jesse jumps to action and just punches certain parts of the Sentry torso to immobilise it, I think. But robots are not humans, as the Sentry just rolls over and crushes him before growing its limbs once more and standing up.

"Jesse!" I scream, horrified that our plan would probably never come to fruition. Jesse still gains the strength to leap to his feet and put on a mean fight, cutting at the humanoid with his katana. He dives from another Sentry stab and dodges cleanly from an sly laser blast that unintentionally goes to a petrol station.

The flash of orange, accompanied with a bath of fire immolates the Sentry and Jesse. No, only the Sentry, for I ignite my jet boots and fly over to Jesse, dashing him to the ground and surrounding us both protectively with my golden wings. The list of individuals who can survive such heat released from the fury of six ruptured fuel tanks the size of houses underground is pretty short. My emergency forcefields come to life, providing us both with adequate protection from the heat. But after this inferno dies down, I'll have little energy in my suit.

I crouch over Jesse, clinging on to him for dear life as my ears ring with the roar of the massive explosion and my eyesight is overwhelmed by the orange fury. Then Jesse murmurs something which makes me blush. "I didn't know you could hug that well." he says.

"Jesse!" I shriek. "Can't you see I'm trying to keep us both from dying! On my mother's birthday! You know how f^&king pathetic this is! Fighting a bloody idiot from goodness knows where and it still refuses to go into the grave!"

"Ever the explicit Mockingjay." Jesse teases. "Still the same Jay."

The roar of the fires have subsided and I look around to find my forcefield dissipating and the entire town square a blackened smoldering wreck. But as a consolation, if the Sentry had continued to rampage, District 12 would become a radioactive wasteland, devoid of life as District 13 used to be. I look for the remains of the Sentry, only to find a gooey tar mass regaining matter and regenerating.

"Aw, shit!" I curse and pull out my crossbow rifle to blast that specimen to hell, only to be beaten by a white arrow that reduces the Sentry into charred remains.


	9. Chapter 8: Katniss's birthday!

Chapter 8

"Jay, I didn't expect the battle to get that ugly." my mother says, looking slightly distressed. Dressed in her black Mockingjay suit from the Rebellion era, no technological wonder like my upgraded suit, she certainly looks awesome. She shouldn't be here. My mother, the first Mockingjay should be at home, waiting for me to come back home to celebrate her birthday.

But she came here to halt the fight. She is armed with that fire bow given by Aslan. With it she slew a thousand Terrorcons and blew holes into the hulls off Decepticon gunships that their only option was to quit. I suppose that if she had entered the battlefield sooner or later everything would have wrapped up in time for lunch. I check the time on my headscreen and I am aghast that the one-on-one battle before Jesse popped by has eaten two hours. The longest I've ever taken is an hour. A hue of shame colours my cheeks, and I look down at my boots.

"Come on, Jay." Jesse pats me on the shoulder. "Don't be such a perfectionist. The Sentry was nothing easy. I thought we would be smithereens before the day is over. At least its just smoldering ruins now."

"But its mum's birthday." I croak. "I almost got myself killed so foolishly, and-and..." I can find no more words to describe my feelings. My head feels numb after that rush of adrenaline.

"Jay." To my surprise, instead of reproaching me for being so suicidal in lumbering into a fight with the Sentry, my mother just walks over to me, takes off my battle visor for me. My holographic head screen shuts off to reveal a tear staining my cheek. That stupid tear.

"Jay, it's alright." my mother says, hugging me. For a few minutes I allow her to comfort me in her arms while I struggle to pull myself together. We break away when a familiar voice calls out.

"Mother? Jay? What are you doing here?"

It's Bagel, my older brother. He's a whiz at baking, but he normally stays in the bakery and works full time there. He missed out much of the action, though. He's holding a huge box that supposedly contains the birthday cake.

"Hanging out in the sun?" Jesse suggests eagerly. I jump, having almost forgotten that he is still there. Bagel looks at the devastation around him, the smoldering pavement, the burnt tents that used to be flower and food stalls, the broken windows and the crumbling stairs and pillars and of course, the shattered memorial of the Hunger Games. The statue of my mother looks as if she had been cut into half. "Yeah, I can see that." Bagel says, nodding.

"Did the bakery get damaged too?" I ask worriedly.

"Just the windows." Bagel says. "But other than that, everything's fine. Saw a bit of the fight. How did you take that fellow out."

"Actually mum did." I say shyly. "Jay!" Bagel exclaims. "We are supposed to let mum have her day! You know its exhausting to be the Mockingjay! It's her birthday, gosh!"

I open my mouth to start bickering, only to spot the Peacekeepers moving in, with a crowd of District 12 folk following behind them. I recognise Darius who salutes my mother smartly and courteously says, "Ma'am, it's makes me happy to have the Mockingjay with us."

"The pleasure is mine." my mum coyly says. "Sorry about the mess."

"Well, it isn't the first time the District's torn apart." Darius comments. "But we'll get it patched up in no time. Meanwhile we need to get the place secured to get the remains of the Sentry to a Capitol lab. Pascal will want to study that stuff and see how the heck this robot can fight like a beast. Not even an Autobot can defeat it."

"I guess they'll be calling Wheeljack all the way from Cybertron." I smirk.

"Yeah, but the bad thing is that the Summer Market will be severely disrupted." Darius laments. "We were just setting up everything before the Sentry crashed. And the fair is tomorrow." The crowd sighs with utter dismay. I'm no fan of fairs, but I feel sorry for them.

Bagel speaks up. "Well, even if the fair is botched, I have a perfect alternative plan!"

Everybody's eyes are on him instantly. A British tourist couple at the back look so full of anticipation that they can burst any time.

Bagel turns to me and mum, and whispers, "Ready for a birthday open house?" Mum looks excited and a smiles curves about her lips.

No wonder he was at the bakery all day!

Filled with chagrin, I exclaim, "Bagel, I wanted it quiet!"

"It's mum's birthday today!" Bagel announces, to the jubilee and joy of all present. "And we're having an open house at the Victor's Village. All are welcome."

* * *

That was so unlike my brother. But what can I say?

Bagel and I actually planned at first just to have a private family gathering. And then somehow things escalated into a full-blown party for mum. And mum didn't even mind. Probably because Grandma Everdeen came by along with familiar faces. Aunt Johanna with her sixth boyfriend (she's a playgirl), Bettee Latier, Effie who used to fawn over mum and dad in the Games, Cinna who designed the Mockingjay suit and probably should be given much credit for bringing life to the image of a Mockingjay rising from the ashes, and most of all, Uncle Gale, with his son Thorn.

Everyone at Helios base teases me that I have a crush on Thorn as I hunt with him every Sunday. Actually mum used to hunt with Uncle Gale on Sundays and she used to be HIS crush. Then dad came along and scooped her up. Well not literally, but Greasy Sae used to tell me how dad loved mum so much that when mum grieved so much after Aunt Prim's death till she sunk into severe depression, dad would bring food for her, bathe and clothe her when she was immobile, having starved herself to a bone. If Sae was right, mum suffered more than I ever did in the brutal and sometimes exhausting training rounds with Jesse.

Whenever I stopped at the Hob to chat with Sae, she would tell me tales that mum didn't tell me. Sure, mum told me how she fought nightmares and hallucinations from years of battling the Capitol and the cruelty of the Games, but she didn't talk much about how dad brought her back to life. Sae told of me about the many times mum was driven to madness by depression, hopelessness and her demons. She tried to kill herself so many times by slicing her wrists with broken glass, jumping from a high tree on a 'hunting trip' and even drinking herself silly. But dad was willing to save her before she hurt herself too much even though many people scolded him and told him that she was far too gone to be saved.

For all I know, dad could have gotten another girl who wasn't wrecked by the Hunger Games and the bloody Rebellion. But he stayed. Day by day he came over with fresh bread to sustain her, night by night his arms comforted her in her worst spells of nightmares. His fingers worked hard not only in kneading bread, but also in coaxing her trembling fingers to release the glass shards or the knife that could end her life. Her tenacity and his undying passion to keep the Girl on Fire alive eventually won mum over, despite the fact that it was difficult for her to reciprocate to expressions of love.

I smile to myself as I watch my beloved mother being accosted by her ardent fans, well-wishers and her friend. Almost all of the District has popped by. Thankfully, Plutarch Heavensbee has appeared with the likes of the CapitolTV reporters and President Paylor's too busy with official paperowrk to turn up though both have sent their heartiest regards. But for now, mum's the celebrity of the day. I mean, she always has been a celebrity. But today's exceptional. Mum is chatting happily with Aunt Annie's son, Finn. Bagel is cutting up a huge cake that looks more like a creamy avalanche of pink bliss than a confectionery. Dad is pulling out an inebriated Haymitch who's just won a drinking contest with Johanna. How can that old guy drink in the afternoon?!

"Hey, Jay." Bagel calls to me. "Why don't you join the party?"

"I need to get this suit off." I murmur before shooting off on my bike to Helios. The sparks bursting from exposed circuitry in my armour is making me feel uncomfortable, attracting stares from a couple of District kids.

A few minutes worth of screw-job work, damage evaluation and Pascal's wry comment that my suit never gets to be maintained in a pristine condition for long. The moment he finishes his complaining I merrily pluck him form his chair and drive him over to celebrate mum's birthday. We arrive just in time for the gorgeous birthday cake to be brought out. Its green and orange, colored naturally with the best crop of fruit, looks and smells of nature, with creamy morning glory blossoms. Dad brushes his lips against her braid and whispers something playful to her ear. Mum giggles like a lovesick school girl, and to everyone's delight she kisses him.

The party goes on until nighttime, when somebody starts up a fiddle, and everyone starts dancing. Mum and dad of course are the highlight of attention, waltzing to gentle romantic tunes to everybody's dreamy sighs or prancing about to a quick country dance. It's hard to believe that mum can dance, her elegance and gracefulness displayed proficiently. I join in the country dance where everyone holds hands in a circle, twirl, clap and switch partners to the merry rhythm. The entire party seems so dreamy, happy and merry that I lose myself in it. The bright lights of lanterns, laughter, excited chatter, the clapping consumes me faster than the intoxication of alcohol. Time becomes non-existence and happiness, giddiness overwhelms me as I release hands to join the next circle of merrymakers. After all, it's mum's birthday.


	10. Chapter 10: Deployment of Destron

Chapter 9

 **In the future apocalyptic world of Greg Heffley**

"Frew, what have you got?" The Chancellor says as he steps onto the command platform. Surrounded by countless monitors and keypads worked on by busy scientists engrossed in the circumnavigation of the unrestricted science, this could be Greg's secondary seat of power. For it was from science and engineering that he arose to fight against the pitiless world that forced individual after individual to conform to its system like slaves lashed into forced labour by a whip.

A bespectacled scientist at the prime of his age, neatly cropped hair and slightly darkened skin, clears his throat and says, "My Chancellor, I am pleased to inform you that the first Ultimate- class Sentry is ready."

"Excellent." The Chancellor beams through his dark visor. "I am pleased to hear that. Since the recent outbreak of Resistance raids have been contained and supplies can be transported more easily, surely work has been easier to complete."

"Not for the Ultimate-class." Frew frowns a little. "The earlier Sentry models since the Deployment were mostly focused on two things: brutal strength and adaptability. But the Ultimate-class is the Ultimate class, so we'd have to make something completely out of the box. Something that no one has ever conjured up before. I mean, the Sentries are already intimidating enough but this is the Ultimate Sentry."

"Well," Greg muses. "I said a year ago that we will still focus on the two elements."

"So you did." Frew says. He pushes a button and the platform descends down into a deep sanctum illuminated by bright lights and guarded by autoguns. "Now, this new Sentry model has its stanium blades, laser visors, adaptability to all kinds of harmful threats and basic learning programs that help determine suitable countermeasures AS USUAL. But this time, we've done tinkering with the adaptability and enhanced the tactical programming."

"Judging from the paperwork you sent me a month ago," Greg says impatiently. "you said that the Ultimate would be different. Anyone can push up the levels of independent strategy in the Sentries. But i don't want to do it, because it might result in a technological singularity, in short, the robots gain self-consciousness and sentience before bursting into a violent struggle for freedom. It's like the Matrix movies."

"Haven't seen the movies in a long while." Frew mutters.

"You should. They teach a lot of things." Greg says. "Probably it's the better medium to books in terms of education effectiveness. The trash of an education system we both muddled in long ago was as rotten as a disintegrating parchment containing rubbish Latin. How in the f&*k can you learn from handed down books that were torn, scribbled upon and doodled in the most abhorrent way possible?! Not to mention monstrous educators who sought to lecture the crap out of you and mash you into the molds, the mechanics of the American-slave system. Bringing us up to be dogs that yap and wear our hind legs off just for paltry scraps! Devoid of any independence or free thinking! And I haven't even got started with my useless peers who act some shamefully that even the monkeys in the jungle would disown them as their better developed counterparts!"

Frew merely keeps silent as the platform descends further down into the sinews of the earth. The platform halts with a slight bump, and the duo step off into another bigger lab rigged with wiring and devices bursting with sparks and enthusiasm. Still the Chancellor raves on. "Fools! Miscreants!" he exclaims, raising his clenched fists in defiance. "Wasting their youths in tomfoolery! In that Health class we were given eggs to take care of, simulating the unbreakable bond of parenthood, and they cast those eggs on their cronies and their lockers! I pity the janitor who worked all afternoon to clean the mess till his ass dropped off. I tried to be different, setting myself aside. I tried my hand at being a potential entrepreneur by hosting a Holiday Bazaar to counter a rip-off of a school fair, and I got caught for vandalism when I was merely attaching posters! Talk about competition! Ensnared by the political and business schemes devised by that rogue Vice Principal Roy! Thank goodness he's dead now. He's good at silencing precious new talent as my fists are, punching the shit out of him!"

"Sir," Frew interrupts Greg nervously. "There before you is the first Ultimate development chamber. His neuro- layering and fibres have been completed. Want to bring him out?"

"Let's see what this big boy can do." the Chancellor replies. Frew gives a few orders to scientists in the upper levels of the sanctum and a gleaming pod the height of a strapping muscular man opens amidst the hissing of vapour. Out of it steps a slender but hauntingly maleficient Sentry, flawless in appearance but vengeful in the eyes. Its fists are so clenched you could be excused for fearing that its fingers would crumble like stale cookies due to immense stress. The Ultimate-class Sentry stares at the eyes of its creator, the Chancellor himself with such boldness, as if it were challenging its master to a deadly duel. Devoid of any hesitance or fear, its menacing stare makes Frew shrink back gingerly and the Chancellor to burst out laughing.

"He's perfect!" Greg exclaims, clapping his hands. "He's perfect! Look at him. He looks like me. My creation, the fruit of my toiling. He may look like any other Sentry, but I can feel that he is different. The Sentries can tears down governments, massacre our adversaries, burn their accomplices like chaff in a furnace, but I tell you this Sentry will do even more! Even if he had no heightened abilities, he would be worse than the Devil himself!"

"Sir, watch this." Frew takes out a command pad, types in 'Chancellor Greg' and the appearance of the new Sentry shifts quickly. Millions of microscales that make up its smooth complexion quickly scurry and scramble in a matter of seconds to form the unmistakable dark cold armour of the Chancellor. Its faceless head roughs over and twists painfully to become the visor that conceals Greg's cold eyes of hatred. The Sentry had taken the very form of its creator. It looked just like him.

"It's like what the Christians claim about creation." Greg proudly declares. "Man was made in the image of God. I kind of understand that statement now. But man became foolish, flabby, embarrassingly self-indulgent and selfish-you think that's a good image for a God? That is why I'm not going to make the same mistake with my creation-he'll be perfect no matter what. Noe enemy will overcome him, and he will sneak up their spines disguised as their comrades, and run them through before they know it!"

"Besides adaptability to any form, any human or animal, this Sentry has been programmed to speak every language except Chinese." Frew states.

"Why not Chinese?" Greg asks, mildly surprised.

"Do you even speak Chinese?" Frew challenges him. "The entire records of the Chinese were wiped out in one month after the Ten Hour War."

"Oh, I forgot that we nuked the Sino continent and sent in a swarm of Sentries to keep an eye on the wretched remnants of the Asian hive." the Chancellor scowls. "I had no quarrel with them, but then the world balance had to tip after I got rid of the Euro coalition. Besides, how in the hell can anyone learn an ancient language that sounds like the argument of troublesome geese? Besides, the world wasn't going to bow to them anyway on the economic scale, not like it did to the British or the Americans."

"Like to give him a name?" Frew suggests, pointing at the Sentry.

"I'll name you Destron, destroyer of my adversaries, be it in the past or the future." Greg says immediately. "Frew, set the portal room ready. We'll send him to take care of those two scoundrels, if they even survived going back in time."

* * *

 **Back in Panem...**

 **Jay's story**

We're on a train heading for the Capitol. Not to be participants in a bloodbath, but upon invitation of the President herself, we're to be observers of the results of Beetee's test on the Sentry remains. Apparently it's like nothing that the Capitol scientists have ever seen. Pascal couldn't give me all the details as much of it was pretty much top-secret hush-hushy. But he hinted to me that they would never be able to recreate the adaptability armour of the Sentry, let alone synchronise it with a learning system that keep scanning your weaknesses. I'd rather fight Galvatron in the Decepticons wars than to fight even one Sentry any day.

"Bagel, where's mum and dad?" I ask, sipping a piping hot cup of coffee. My brother and I are at the breakfast table with Haymitch and Jesse. For once, Jesse has his helmet off and is working on a crusty croissant. Haymitch is silently fighting off his mental temptations to start the day with a dose of alcohol by chugging down a jug of juice. I don't know whether it helps, but as far as the juice is concerned, he'll get waterlogged for all his pains. Bagel merely shrugs and says, "Still in their room."

"Gosh, its nine o'clock!" I scowl, looking at my watch in utter displeasure. "These days they're always waking up late!"

"Give them a break, Jay." Bagel says. "Mum was tired out fighting the Sentry. Besides the party was a bit...exhilarating."

"Hey, I was the one who got beaten about and tossed like a rag doll by the Sentry!" I pout. "Mum just popped in and blew its head off."

"What's your definition of early, Jay?" Haymitch smirks.

"When I'm around, it's five." Jesse says, reaching for a sesame bun in the bread basket. "If we are going for a mountain hike, three."

"When you're not around, it's four." I wink at my comrade.

"I'm surprised your body isn't begging for sleep like my body does for alcohol." Haymitch says miserably, looking at the empty jug of juice.

"Force of habit." Jesse clarifies. "But the time we wake up doesn't count anyway. What counts is how much work we get done in one day. We're in the military. But in wartime, sleep is a precious commodity."

It used to be prison for my mum and dad, when the spectres of nightmares of murdered kids, hissing mutts and Capitol death traps haunt them. Oddly, sometimes sleep feels like a waste of time to me. A few hours taken off my schedule. But I'll be no better than a robot if Pascal had to plug me to a battery as a substitute for sleep. I wonder if mum still has nightmares at times. I faintly remember how I, a chubby toddler as short as a stool, would bolt to my parents' room upon hearing a wail of despair, only to find a sobbing mum clinging to my dad.

"Is mummy okay, daddy?" I would ask.

"She's having a nightmare." dad would whisper, his hand stroking my mum's hair. Those clever fingers, which knew how to bring the splendour of a bright blossom onto parchment with the flourish of a paint brush and to bake addictive cheese buns, run through her hair, smoothing every frazzled strand. "But it's over, gone. It's not real."

"It's okay, Jay." Mum, still in tears, brushes my hair fondly, trying her best to pull herself together. "The bad dream's gone now."

"Mummy, can I sleep with you tonight? I don't want you to be scared of the bad dreams." I said. I was a plucky fighter even back then.

My mother laughed even as tears drenched the bed clothes at such an outlandish idea, but she let me clamber in. I nestled in her arms like a baby bird in the comfort of its mother's wings, as dad stroked her hair till she slipped back into a restful consciousness. And so did I.

I am pulled out of my thoughts by the creak of a door and the unmistakable laughter of my mother. She is pointing at dad teasingly, giggling something embarrassingly immature about 'cherry pies' and 'penetrating arrows' as they come in, looking more lovesick than lovebirds. Not immature, it's too off the mark. To say terribly 'open' and directly sexual would be a grave understatement. It's hard to believe that my mother used to be so 'pure' that she shunned any kind of physical contact with Uncle Gale or dad in the era of the Games. Now she's acting up.

All eyes are on the duo as they sit down to breakfast. Mum has a rosy flush on her face that brings out that tiny smile and the dandelion in her brown eyes. Her hair is neatly braided, possibly by dad, but the long braid isn't doing a good job of hiding a few teeth marks down her neck. Love bites? Ugh. Haymitch used to tell me how Enobaria jammed her teeth into a Tribute's neck to win her Games like a vampire, and this proves that sex can be deadly especially when you are intoxicated with alcohol or lust.

Bagel and Jesse get the ball rolling to halt the awkward silence by chatting gaily about the new Capitol shops and shopping districts, new popular locations for us to pop by and shop till we drop. Haymitch's wrestling with a tough bun, claiming that dad's buns are better. The privilege of splurging had only been reserved for the Capitolites until just recently that living standards got jacked up, and then the range of goods were limited to the expertise of the Games' stylists back then. Since Panem opened up internationally, we can afford to be choosier. I stay quiet and pretend to be engaged in my coffee. Thin and bitter, but I prefer it that way rather than for it to be adulterated by sugar. Dad looks more enthusiastic than usual, his bright blue eyes keep turning to rest on his beautiful tough wife as if she were more tasty than the ham and eggs on his plate.

Finally mum looks up and says seductively (she sounds more mushy than seductive, it annoys me so!), "You want to finish me off, sweetheart?"

I groan aloud, remembering that those were the words that came out of dad's mouth in the Games. "I didn't pay for a ticket to the romantic movies!" I complain.

"Well, that's how they got us." Bagel points out, trying to be 'sympathetic' to their cause.

"Bagel!" I exclaim.

Haymitch tosses his brick-hard bun to the side. "Peeta, since when you two got a boost in your libido?" he asks cheerfully, ignoring the protests of decency that exit my mouth.

"Since Katniss's birthday." dad grins. "Did you spike the cake or something?" I growl at my brother. "Because I don't remember mum and dad being so sexually active in public."

I must have said one thing too many, but I don't care. I'm so annoyed and irritated that it's worse than an itch. I know it's natural for my parents to be lovelorn but for decency's sake...

"Jay," Jesse says. "Never mind the cake. You'll be doing the same thing with Thorn in the future."

"My schedule won't allow it." I scowl. "And it never will."

"He who laughs first laughs last." Jesse says dreamily.

"Yeah right, English professor." I sniff disdainfully at my glass of orange juice.

But mum and dad aren't up on my case of being rude and (un)reasonably bad-tempered. "You know, if you were a glistening moist cake, I couldn't eat you. You're too...hot." dad says, his fingers tickling the loose locks of hair of my mum. "You just did." mum beams. "On my neck and at my cherry p-"

"Ahem." Haymitch says. "There are children here and one guest."

"Come on, they're grown up. They understand." dad says liberally.

"My patience is sorely tested." I murmur, but no one listens to me.

"I do, but concerning the cherry pie..." Bagel's innocence is so embarrassing that everyone pretends to ignore it.

"Don't look at me!"Jesse says. "I'm a bystander."

"There's sugar on your lips." dad says out of the blue. "Is there?" mum says. Before she can take a napkin, dad swoops in and presses his lips against hers. Mum releases a sound that is a mix between a moan and a gasp. Jesse puts on his helmet to obstruct his vision while Bagel and I look at our food awkwardly. Not the first time this happened. But Haymitch is sitting there, enjoying the sight of a lovesick couple eating at each other, smiling like a bear out of a honey vat. And I'll bet that he's seen this many a time, for years.

I suppose that Haymitch really deserves to be a mentor for life, with such patience to withstand such yucky sightings.

Just when I'm thinking of either blowing up at such nonsense or vomiting out of disgust for such wanton behavior, I hear a loud slap and see dad holding his red cheek. "We can't do this in front of the kids! Peeta, are you out of your mind? They're looking at us for gosh sakes! And Jesse too!" Mum's transformed from a lover lost in lust to a dragon breathing fire.

"What?" Jesse says. "Go on, continue with your business-"

I throw a strawberry at his forehead to silence him, but Jesse smacks it splattering into the window with one finger.

"See, Jay's raving mad now! What in the heck am I supposed to say to her?" mum yells at dad. Haymitch snickers, but he doesn't act to stop the argument from heating up.

"Sorry?" I suggest with a wry smile on my face.

"Not good enough!" mum yells at dad louder and thumps him at the arm. He shields back from her, a little alarmed, but he's still smiling. And snickering like Haymitch.

"Laugh? That's all you can do?" In a fit of expression, she grabs dad with a strength I forgot that existed and actually drags him off back to their room while yelling at him for embarrassing the whole family and decency by luring her into the lovers' trap, only to be cut off by the slam of the door. "Good." I say. "Now I can eat in peace." Haymitch and Bagel look unhappily at me. "What?" I say. "You two men are really screwed up. And Bagel, those are our parents! And you are willing to watch them fool about?"

"I think it's a ruse." Jesse says. He's sounding surprisingly calm.

"What do you mean?" I growl. This morning is too much.

To answer my enquiry, a delightful shriek of pleasure brimming with lust cuts through the thin walls of the train. That could only come from mum. This is followed by an almost clearly audible "Peeta, you bit too deep! My neck is so sore now. How am I gonna get out of bed now?"

"You don't have to." is the reply.

"How desperate some people get for love bites?" I moan.

There really are worse games to play.


End file.
